


see me empty sky

by erostiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bad Parent John Winchester, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Broken Families, Character Death, Comfort/Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Meet the Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-15 20:47:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 29,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29320395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erostiel/pseuds/erostiel
Summary: As close as they are, as special as Dean is to him, they are not together. They are not partners. They are each other’s weekends, the odd late night, long car trips and busy airports between them.(What was once an easy arrangement between strangers has morphed into something deeper. Slowly, Dean and Cas figure it out.)
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Ellen Harvelle/Bobby Singer, Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester
Comments: 5
Kudos: 32





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> A couple of notes: 
> 
> \- This fic will explore the death of a parent (John) & the grief that comes with losing someone unexpectedly.  
> \- fic title is inspired by Jack Kerouac's 'Some of the Dharma'

⬩

As soon as the Chicago skyline comes into view, Castiel switches his phone back on. The woman sitting next to him shoots him a dirty look, and she’s probably right to, but Castiel ignores it. He’s done a lot of flying — this is his eleventh domestic flight this year, his third to Chicago — and using his mobile phone hasn’t crashed the plane yet. 

Service doesn’t flicker in for another few minutes, but as the plane descends, the phone starts to buzz. He’s got a missed call from Michael and a text telling him about it, with instructions to check his voicemail. Gabriel has texted too, eleven times to be specific, but Castiel has learnt by now not to worry when that happens. Gabriel’s preferred method of communication is quantity, not quality, and he never shies away from sending a double or triple or quadruple text if he's excited enough. From what Castiel can see in the message preview, it’s something to do with his new condo and a spare room with Castiel's name on it. 

He scrolls past Michael and Gabriel’s messages, searching for one name in particular. When he finds it, he types a quick message.

> _in chicago til monday [sent - 12:36]_

It’s a Thursday. Castiel's colleagues always beg off the Monday morning appointments, not wanting to spend the weekend out of town when they could be spending it with their families. Castiel has no such qualms. He’s got appointments all Friday, starting with a consulting job for one of their bigger clients, and ending with a couple of job interviews that Michael’s asked him to conduct at their Chicago office downtown. The weekend is his as long as he’s on time at court on Monday morning and Castiel has never really had a problem with punctuality. 

Getting off the plane when it lands is a matter of going through the motions. He bypasses baggage claim, having learnt a long time ago the value of carry on for a trip like this, and heads straight for the man holding the sign with his name on it. 

“Mr. Novak?” The man asks. He’s picked Castiel up on each of Castiel's trips to Chicago but never seems to recognise him. Castiel doesn’t take it personally. He’s not much of a conversationalist, always preferring to use the drive time to stay up to date on his work emails, and he has a fairly forgettable face. 

So he just nods. “That’s me.” 

They navigate through the airport and parking lot without speaking. It isn’t a long walk; their drivers have a pass that allows them to park in one of the closest short term bays. Castiel puts his own luggage in the trunk, smiles a little awkwardly as the man holds open the car door for him, then settles into the back seat. He checks his phone for a response — nothing yet — and the notification for Michael’s missed call jumps out at him again. Sighing, Castiel dials his brother’s number. 

“You’ve landed then?” Michael asks when he picks up. 

“Yes,” Castiel says, even though that much is already obvious. “You called?” 

Michael doesn’t waste any time. “Yeah, I got a call this morning from Rachel, she’s managed to get a sit down with the partners at Battalion. Tonight, six o’clock. Does that work for you?” 

He’s not really asking. 

Castiel glances at his watch. It’s just past four. It’ll probably take him half an hour to get to the hotel in traffic like this, which will give him around an hour to get to the Battalion office. He can make that work, maybe even sneak in some food on the way. “Yeah.” 

“Okay good,” Michael says. “I’m gonna have her send you some notes, make sure you review them before the meeting. This guy’s a big fish, Castiel, we want him.” 

Castiel hums. “Don’t we want them all?”

It comes out a little more sarcastic than Castiel likes to be with Michael, but Michael doesn’t seem to notice. He barks a laugh, the same laugh that would accompany a solid clap on the shoulder if Castiel were within arm’s reach. “That’s the ticket, baby brother. Let’s make it happen.” 

He hangs up. 

Castiel sighs as he brings his phone away from his ear. Sure enough, an email notification appears from Phoebe, Michael’s assistant. A glance at the PDF attached shows roughly twenty pages of client notes for Castiel to get through before he gets to the hotel. 

Castiel has only read the first sentence when his phone buzzes again. This time, he’s far more interested in the message that comes through. 

> _Memphis. Got a job. [received - 13:12]_

Castiel's heart sinks. Disappointment stings; Castiel lets himself feel it for a moment, before forcing the feeling away. It’s — he doesn’t take these trips just for — but it’s always nicer when he has something of his own to look forward to. It isn’t the end of the world, though. There’s work to do, and his hotel is nice enough that it won’t be entirely miserable to stay inside and get started on his reports for next week. 

He shifts a little, resigning himself to his new weekend plan when his phone buzzes again. 

> _Can be there for Sunday? [received - 13:14]_

Relief floods him. Castiel doesn’t think about it before typing out his own reply.

> _that’s perfect [sent - 13:14]_

He includes the name of his hotel to make things easy and, when he checks in half an hour later, he sends the room number too. 

⬩

Friday passes fast and slow. Castiel's meetings drag, bogged down by entitled clients and arrogant sales reps who make all sorts of grand commitments on Castiel's behalf. His schedule is so booked though, that by the time it does hit five o’clock, Castiel is caught off guard. The Chicago office isn’t far from Castiel's hotel, so he decides to walk back instead of taking the car. He calls Michael on his way, gives him a quick update and then signs off for the weekend. He gets dinner from the room service menu and spends a little more time with his emails before he gets bored and he decides to swap over to Netflix instead. 

He wakes up Saturday morning, still in his suit from the night before, and to four more texts from Gabriel. He’s fallen asleep on top of his blankets, rather than under them, and that feels like a particular low point even for him so he forces himself up. He hangs his suit up on the back of the bathroom door, hoping that the steam from his shower will straighten out the creases. When he gets out, he puts on some more casual clothes — a t-shirt and some old jeans — and makes himself walk out the front door. There’s no reason to waste all his time indoors, just waiting. He can do better than that. 

His room rate includes breakfast, but Castiel has never really enjoyed buffets. He heads outside instead and walks until he finds a bakery where he can buy a pastry and a cup of coffee. He gets a seat outside — the sun is shining, there’s no reason to hide away from it — and contents himself for a few hours there, reading his book. He orders a second coffee while he reads, but when the waitress comes over a third time, asking if he’d like to order anything more, he takes the hint and packs up his things. 

He walks the streets a little while longer, strolling past the window displays of the shops he passes, and pausing again in the park. When the sky starts to cloud, he admits defeat and heads back towards the hotel. 

“Cas!” Gabriel is always excited when Castiel calls him, always pretends it’s some huge event. “How are you? How’s Chicago? Did you get my texts?” 

Castiel sighs. “Good, good, and yes.” 

“Tell me you’ve left your hotel, at least once.” 

It makes Castiel instantly glad that he forced himself up this morning. Gabriel loves nothing more than making fun of Castiel, and Castiel's penchant for staying inside and working is a favourite subject of his. On occasion, Castiel has lied to keep Gabriel off his back, but he doesn’t really like being dishonest. 

“I have,” Castiel says, trying not to sound too proud. “I’m heading back to the hotel now.” 

“Good boy.” 

Gabriel has this way of being so effortlessly condescending. It sets Castiel's teeth on edge. “Gabriel—” he says sternly, but his brother cuts him off before he can continue. 

“—So what do you think of October?” 

That makes Castiel pause. He frowns. “The month?” 

Even for Gabriel, that line of questioning is odd. Gabriel presses on as if it’s the most casual thing in the world. “Yeah, for you to visit.” Castiel abruptly remembers the preview of the many messages he has yet to open. “Do you even read the texts I send you?” 

“I, uh,” Castiel starts, then stops again. “I was getting to them.” 

Gabriel sighs, loud and tinny through the phone speaker. “Cas. This is why I have to call you all the time.” 

“I called you, actually.” 

“Shut up,” Gabriel says. “The spare room is done, I want you to come visit me. I haven’t seen you since Christmas.” 

Christmas had been a spectacular affair. Michael and Lucifer had bitched at each other endlessly, Gabriel had done his level best to rile them both up, and Castiel and Anna had spent most of their time hiding in their old bedroom. Castiel is twenty-eight this year, and Anna’s turning thirty in May, but they still share a room when they visit their family. It’s nice actually, a little reminder of simpler times when they both used to study together, Anna helping Castiel with the classes she’d already taken, and Castiel doing his best to help her make note cards for her finals. 

As chaotic as it is, there is something nice about his family all being back in the same spot. Gabriel has a particular soft spot for the rare opportunities when they’re all together. As much as he complains, Castiel thinks that all Gabriel really wants is for them all to be happy and comfortable around one another. It’s a nice dream, Castiel thinks, even if it’s not very realistic. 

“I’d like to see you too,” Castiel says, and means it. 

“Then let’s lock it in. October?” 

Castiel has to swerve around a group of people who’ve stopped to chat outside a restaurant. October, October. It’s a busy time at the firm, and being that it’s not too far away, Michael might already have some client meetings lined up. “I’ll have a look at my schedule.” 

Gabriel hums. “You can look now, I’ll hold.” 

“No, I mean—” 

But Gabriel cuts him off again. “Do _not_ leave it up to Michael, Cas.” Apparently, it had been easy to intuit what Castiel had been thinking. “If it were up to him, you’d work every day of the year. Oh, _wait._ ” 

The sarcasm is clear enough. And he’s right. That’s exactly what Castiel does already. 

“You know that there’s a lot to do,” Castiel says. 

“There’s always something to do,” Gabriel says. “That doesn’t mean it’s you who’s gotta do it. You deserve a break. Come visit me.” 

Castiel isn’t going to win this one, so there’s no point in arguing. Besides, he does want to see Gabriel, and it _has_ been a long time. October is far enough away that he has time to prepare his meetings and work his schedule around a leave period. If he misses anything, he can always catch up after the trip. So he says, “Okay.” 

“October?” Gabriel checks. 

“Yes,” Castiel nods, even though Gabriel can’t see it. “I’ll put in a leave request when I get back to the hotel.” 

“Two weeks at least, okay? You haven’t had a holiday in years.” Castiel wants to protest at that, but he finds that he can’t. When was the last time? If work trips like this don’t count, then Castiel honestly can’t remember. Gabriel goes on. “We’ll be tourists, we’ll show you all the sites.” 

Castiel can’t help but smile at that. Gabriel makes an obnoxious tourist, the same way he makes an obnoxious anything else. That said, the idea of being dragged all over San Francisco, following his brother’s lead, doesn’t sound as bad as it should on paper. 

“I’m sure Kali will love that,” Castiel says. For every part that Gabriel is wild, his partner Kali is dour and serious. They make quite a pair. 

Gabriel huffs a laugh. “She’ll get over it, she loves me.” 

Castiel can’t argue with that. Despite their differences, that is one thing about Gabriel and Kali that has always been transparently obvious. He turns a street corner and realises his hotel is only a few hundred metres away. “I’m almost at the hotel,” he says to Gabriel. “I have to go.” 

“Castiel. October, I’m serious.” Gabriel’s voice turns serious again. “I’m looking forward to it.” 

“Me, too,” Castiel says. It will be good to spend some time with Gabriel, where he isn’t distracted by Michael and Lucifer’s antics. “I’ll talk to you later.” 

“Sooner, if you keep ignoring my messages.” 

Castiel sighs, smiles. “Goodbye, Gabriel.” 

He hangs up and crosses the road, heading inside the hotel again. It’s the early afternoon now, which means it’s socially acceptable for Castiel to get his lunch ordered to the room. He does that, and opens up his laptop, checking his work emails again while he waits. He sends Michael an email about the time off in October. Michael will say yes, Castiel has too large a leave balance for him to reasonably refuse, but he’ll definitely want to talk about how to work around Castiel's absence. Castiel makes a mental note, setting aside an hour on Monday morning for that conversation alone. 

When his food arrives, Castiel swaps over to Netflix again and picks the first documentary that he can find. This one is a nature one, with a narrator who has a soft and soothing voice. That, combined with a newly full belly, makes it easy for Castiel to doze off. At least he’s not in his suit this time. 

When he wakes up, it’s just after five o’clock, and Castiel feels more tired than he had before he’d fallen asleep. He often does, after an afternoon nap. He missed most of the documentary, so he rewinds to the last scene he can remember — a herd of caribou, running from a pack of wolves — and actually watches it this time. When he gets hungry again, he orders dinner and refuses to feel ashamed of how they collect his plates from lunch when they drop off his next meal. 

When his documentary finishes a second time, Castiel can’t help but think back to his work. There’s a brief he’ll need for later in the week, and he could do it on the plane on Monday afternoon, or he could do it now and get it out of the way. That in mind, it’s easy to switch his brain back to work mode, if it were ever switched off at all. 

Castiel is halfway through his first draft when there’s a knock at the door. For a minute, he just frowns. He’s been thinking about ordering room service again — he’s already eaten dinner but a glass of wine wouldn’t go amiss — but he’s sure he hasn’t made the call yet. He hung the Do Not Disturb sign as soon as he got in, so it shouldn’t be housekeeping. It’s almost eight o’clock, anyway. It shouldn’t be housekeeping with or without the sign on his door handle. 

He thinks about ignoring it, but when a second knock raps on the door, curiosity gets the better of him. He sets his laptop to the side and stands. He’s been ready for bed since five o’clock, so he’s wearing an old t-shirt and some flannelette pyjama pants he bought a few years back. When he swings open the door, he startles. 

“Dean?” 

Dean looks good. He’s got bags under his eyes and a tired line to his shoulders. He’s the best thing that Castiel has seen in months. He’s smiling, enough that his eyes crinkle a little at the corners, like he’s just as pleased to be standing in front of Castiel as Castiel is to see him there. 

“Hey.” 

Castiel drinks in the sight of him. “You’re here.” 

Dean nods. “I am.” 

“You said Sunday.” 

A frown appears on Dean’s face. “You complaining?” 

Castiel shakes his head hastily and steps to the side. “No, no,” he says. He can’t help reaching out, putting a hand on Dean’s shoulder and herding him inside. Now that Dean’s here, the last thing in the world Castiel wants is for him to leave again. “Come inside.” 

Dean’s got a small shoulder bag swung over his arm, and it bumps Castiel's hip as he steps inside. As Castiel shuts the door, Dean takes in the room. There’s Castiel's briefcase and it’s contents, blanketing the small table in the corner, and Castiel's work laptop, still open on the bed. The hotel television is playing some soap that Castiel had put on, more for background noise than anything else, while he worked. And then there’s the empty plates from Castiel's dinner. 

“Wow,” Dean says, dry. “You got big plans tonight?” 

Castiel feels himself flush and rushes to the small table to tidy his files. “I was,” he searches for a way to say ‘working’ without it coming across as lame as it is, and fails. “Uh…” 

Dean drops his bag on the ground, kicking it closer to the bed and out of the way. A good idea, if neither of them wants to trip over it later. He follows Castiel to the table, steps in close. “Cas, I’m kidding.” 

Castiel ducks his head, still not quite sure to do with the documents in his hands. “I know,” he says, and he does know. Dean wouldn’t make fun of him — not maliciously at least. Even when he does joke about Castiel's work-life balance, he never means anything by it. Not really. 

Dean reaches up, smoothing his hand across the nape of Castiel's neck. He uses his other hand to gently guide Castiel, setting the papers back down on the table. “C’mere.”

Castiel goes easily. Dean’s arms are warm and soft, and everything Castiel has been missing. He kisses Castiel like Castiel is something precious, something to be cherished, and Castiel lets himself be swallowed up by the feeling. 

He’s let stubble grow in since the last time Castiel saw him. It scratches against Castiel's skin, a direct contrast to the softness of his lips and his tongue. With one hand anchored behind Castiel's head, Dean uses the other to map the shape of Castiel's back. He tugs Castiel in close and then shifts, moving them both so he can press Castiel up against the wall. 

The weight of him is divine. Castiel has felt flighty, listless, all day and this is the perfect remedy. Dean is a grounding presence, his touch so soft but so sure. It makes all of it — the travel time, the months since they saw each other last, the spare time to fill — so worth it. 

Eventually, Dean pulls away just enough to put an inch of space between them. His lips are red, roughened by Castiel's, and the sight of it makes heat pool in Castiel's stomach. 

“You eaten?” Dean asks. 

Castiel has to swallow, his throat a little dry. “Yes. Have you?” 

Dean shakes his head minutely. “Not yet.” 

That clears Castiel's mind a little. It’s not quite late, but it’s not early either. If Dean has been driving all day, he must be hungry. He pulls a little further away and glances around the room. “The room service menu is just over there,” he says when he spots it on the end of the bed. 

Dean’s grip has stayed steady, sure. He taps his index finger against the back of Castiel's neck, fond, and leans in again. Before he kisses Castiel again, he says, “ _Mhmm_. I’ll have a look later.” 

Castiel can’t resist sinking into his embrace again. Dean’s wearing his old leather jacket, jeans and a t-shirt. It’s impossibly easy for Castiel to tug on the hem of his shirt, lift it and smooth his hands across the warm skin he finds underneath. Dean’s stomach jumps a little at the touch, and Castiel smiles against his mouth. 

He squeezes at Dean’s hip and pulls back again. “If you’re hungry, we should—” 

“Cas,” Dean says. “I’ll have a look _later_.” To emphasise his words, he pushes forward with his hips, aligning himself with Castiel. 

It makes Castiel a little dizzy. “Oh. Okay.” 

Dean claims his mouth again. These kisses are deep, searching, and send heat thrilling up Castiel's spine. Castiel surrenders to them entirely, a whimper escaping him as he pulls at Dean’s hips again. It isn’t long before they’re moving, rocking together, chasing that divine heat. It occurs to Castiel, the thought only half there, floating, that there’s a perfectly good bed only feet away from them. He can’t bring himself to pull away, though; not even for the second it would take to get there. 

His hands move to Dean’s belt instead. Dean lets out a soft grunt against Castiel's lips when Castiel's knuckles graze him. It melts into a chuckle when Castiel lets out a huff of annoyance, the belt and their close, close proximity fighting him. 

“Cas, chill,” he says. “We’ve got all night.” 

Logically, Castiel knows that. They’ve actually got more time than Castiel had thought they would, because Dean is here now, an entire night earlier than he’d said. But even with him here in his hands, Castiel can’t quite trust it. The world has aligned against them so many times lately. There’ve been so many weekends when Dean has been close, but not close enough, too far to drive before Castiel has to fly out again. There have been other times when Dean has been in town, or one town over, but Castiel has had to work. Dean has slipped through Castiel's fingers so many times now, it doesn’t feel real that they’ll have a day together. 

Castiel doesn’t know how to say any of that out loud though. He just tugs at Dean’s belt again, helpless. 

Dean stills his hands, pulling back. “C’mon,” Dean says, pulling lightly on Castiel's wrists. “C’mere.” 

He guides Castiel across the room, walking backwards until his knees thump into the end of the bed. Sitting on the edge, Dean lets go of Castiel's wrists to reach for Castiel's waistband. He watches Castiel the entire time, holding his gaze as he tugs on the elastic down over Castiel's hips, then further. He reaches in and pulls Castiel out, wrapping his hand around him. When his thumb swipes over the head of Castiel's cock, Castiel can’t help the noise that escapes him. 

“There you go,” Dean murmurs, low and soft. “Just relax.” 

He starts to move his hand in earnest. It’s a little uncomfortable, his palm is dry, but Dean is only preparing him. Castiel isn’t surprised when Dean ducks down and replaces his hand with his mouth. 

Castiel's knees tremble, but he keeps himself upright. The heat of Dean’s mouth is searing, the tip of his tongue flicking at exactly the right spot. He’s good at this, likes doing this, but every time he does Castiel feels overwhelmed by the sight of it. He grazes his open palm across the curve of Dean’s jaw and tucks the tip of his index finger in the small spot right behind Dean’s ear. 

Dean’s eyes, which had been shut, flicker open and he catches Castiel's stare. He holds it, one of his hands starting to move on Castiel, helping him along, and the other braced on Castiel's thigh. As he takes Castiel further down his throat, he moves and squeezes at the globe of Castiel's ass. Even through the fabric of his pyjama pants, it makes Castiel's heart thunder. If Dean is right, if they really have all night, then there is so much that they can do.

Dean takes him in deeper, his nose brushing against the thick wiry curls at Castiel's groin, and thought all but flees him. With his hand, Dean encourages Castiel to rock into him, his eyes fluttering shut again. Castiel loses himself in feeling, then, little noises and whimpers escaping him, growing louder and louder until he loses control altogether and bliss takes him. 

Dean swallows it all, swiping his tongue across Castiel's slit one last time before he pulls off. When he does, his mouth is ruined and his eyes are watery. Castiel wants to hold onto him and never let go. 

“Better?” Dean asks, his voice raspy. 

Castiel touches his cheek again, traces his cheekbone with his fingertip. “I’m glad you’re here.” 

Dean laughs, even as he leans into Castiel's touch. His cheeks turn a little pink. “That’s what everyone says after a blowie.” 

He’s clearly joking, but there’s a hint of something self-deprecating that Castiel won’t abide. He uses his hand to guide Dean’s chin, to make sure that he’s looking at Castiel when he says, “I mean it, Dean.” 

Dean looks away quickly, like he always does. He brings his hand up to grasp at Castiel's wrist again and soothes his thumb across the joint there. Then he pulls a little harder, tugging until Castiel steps forward, closer. Dean shoves Castiel's pants down and off, pulling his boxers away with them. Then, working backwards, he lifts the hem of Castiel’s t-shirt, pushing it up as far as he can whilst seated, and letting Castiel take care of the rest. 

Castiel pushes at Dean’s shoulder, helping him shrug off his leather jacket and ridding him of his own tee. From there, it’s much easier to undo Dean’s belt. He pulls Dean up and to his feet, just to shuck his pants. They catch on his shoes, of course, but Dean manages to kick them away after a moment of stumbling. Once he’s free of them, Castiel presses him back down onto the mattress and crawls into his lap. 

Dean’s cock is hard, pressing hot against the crux of Castiel's thigh. Dean’s hands find Castiel's ass again, kneading the flesh there, his fingers wandering dangerously. Castiel pushes back into the touch, leaning down and capturing Dean’s lips. There was a day when Castiel didn’t really know how to do this and took most of his guidance from Dean; they’ve had a lot of practice since then. 

A part of Castiel aches for them to move things along, but it takes a back seat for a moment. He stalls, just for a moment, craning his head down to bite on Dean’s lip. There’s nothing better in the world than kissing Dean. But Dean is a little more urgent than Castiel, for obvious reasons. It isn’t long before he pulls back, looks up at Castiel and asks, “You got lube?” 

Castiel nods then looks down to his carry on suitcase. It’s only a few feet away, but it feels much further when reaching it requires leaving Dean’s arms. He ducks down and steals another kiss before pulling away and standing up. 

While Castiel gets the lube and a condom, Dean shuffles further up the bed and asks, “You got everything saved on here?” 

Castiel looks up to see Dean holding Castiel's laptop. When Castiel nods, Dean shuts it carefully and sets it down on the bedside table. Then he rolls over, stretching out shamelessly on the crisp white sheets, and waits. 

Castiel can’t resist ducking his head down as he crawls up Dean’s body, nosing in at his cock, breathing him in. He continues upwards, dragging his teeth across Dean’s stomach, then his chest, tonguing a nipple. He finishes his journey where the curve of Dean’s shoulder becomes his neck, pushing up and dropping kisses along the line of Dean’s jaw. 

Dean’s hands glide across Castiel's shoulders, down his back and grasp his thighs. Castiel takes the hint, settling his weight over Dean and rubbing, Dean’s cock pushing up against his ass. 

It’s been too long. 

“That’s it, yeah,” Dean mumbles, thrusting his hips upwards, guiding Castiel along with his hands. He does this every time, murmurs little things that Castiel isn’t sure he’s even aware of. Words of encouragement, the kind that makes Castiel's chest feel warm whenever he hears them. 

Castiel leans down to kiss him again, first his lips, then his cheek, his brow bone, and his forehead. He presses his closed fist against Dean’s sternum gently, careful not to let the plastic bottle dig into Dean’s skin. When he comes back to Dean’s mouth, he holds himself up, just out of Dean’s reach, and lets his words spill over Dean’s lips. 

“You want me to do it?” he asks. 

Dean’s tongue darts out, wetting his lips, and he shakes his head. “Hell no.” He holds his hand out, palm open, grabby. “Gimme.” 

As soon as he has the lube in hand, Dean shifts, pressing himself back down into the pillows so that Castiel can sit straight and move further up over his chest. As soon as Castiel is a little closer, Dean lifts his arm over Castiel's thigh and reaches around to palm his ass. When his finger prods at Castiel's opening, dry, Castiel lets his head drop back, and pushes into it. 

Dean’s good at this, too. Even though his hands are out of his sight, hidden behind Castiel's back, Dean wets his fingers fast. He starts slow, keeping the pressure light, both of them aware that it’s been a while since they’ve done this. It doesn’t take long for the need to build in him, though. Castiel rocks back into the touch, chasing it. 

“You look so good like this, Cas,” Dean says. When Castiel looks at him, Dean is gazing up with something like awe on his face. It makes Castiel feel self-conscious — he’s truly on show above Dean, and even though Dean has seen it all before, it’s hard to rid himself of the idea that he’s exposed like this, open — but he can’t shy away from that look in Dean’s eye. It’s so soft; so much more than Castiel deserves.

He works quickly, opening Castiel up with one finger and then two. By the time he’s pressing a third in, Castiel feels hot all over, and his thoughts are foggy. He doesn’t always know what to do with his hands when he’s like this, on display for Dean. He settles now for grasping at Dean’s unoccupied hand, threading their fingers together and holding on tightly.

With three fingers inside him, a sense of urgency ignites under Castiel's skin. His cock still feels a little sensitive, but the burning that sits deep within him is shouting for more. “That’s enough, Dean,” Castiel says, forcing himself to slow the movement of his hips. 

Dean gazes up at him, all heat. “Yeah.” 

Castiel can’t move fast enough. He snatches the condom up off the bed, tearing into the small silver packet, and pressing it into Dean’s free hand. Dean pulls his fingers free and takes hold of Castiel's thighs again, letting him shuffle back. As Castiel moves off of his chest, sitting more squarely over Dean’s hips, Dean sits up, his muscles flexing as he does. He kisses Castiel desperately then, hot and wet and messy, and wraps one of his arms around Castiel's waist, holding him in place. He uses the other to roll the condom on and line himself up, nocking the head of his cock up against Castiel's opening. “Sure you’re good?” 

Castiel answers by moving his hips, sinking onto Dean in one smooth, sure move. The fullness takes a hold of him as he does, and he shuts his eyes, basking in it, as Dean groans. His fingers dig in at Castiel's waist, and he bites at Castiel's lip, then his jaw, and his chin. 

It’s like a dance, Castiel thinks errantly as he begins to move. He lifts his hips and Dean follows, holding him close, letting Castiel guide him. When Castiel presses back down, Dean is there to meet him, pushing up with his hips and digging deeper inside Castiel.

It’s absolutely divine, an addiction, and Castiel will never tire of it. 

As their movements become more desperate, their kisses grow more sloppy. Eventually, they are simply panting into one another, heavy, harsh breaths that fill the room. Dean makes these little noises, low and gravelly and sweet. Castiel doesn’t think he sounds quite as good, his gasps a little raspier, his moans a little softer, but Dean doesn’t seem to mind them. He drinks them up. 

He feels Dean’s fingers dig in at his hip, a sign that he’s learnt over the past few years, one that telegraphs Dean’s growing desperation. He isn’t surprised when, a moment later, Dean’s moan turns to a grunt and he stills, pressing hard into Castiel one more time as he spills himself inside. 

Castiel could live in this moment forever if he could. He would keep Dean inside him, pressed so close that their breath, and their bodies, become one. He can’t, of course. 

But he would if he could.

As Dean comes down from his high, his movements turn a little gentler than they were a moment before. The urgency is gone, but he still holds onto Castiel tightly, like he doesn’t want to let go. He peppers kisses down the line of Castiel's neck, across the crown of his shoulder and down. He bites wickedly at Castiel's nipple. 

Castiel laughs, then grumbles. It’s too much, he’s too sensitive, after everything. “Stop it.” 

“You good?” Dean asks. 

Castiel sighs. “Never better.” 

Dean smiles but shakes his head. “No, I mean…” he trails off suggestively, looking down at Castiel's cock, pressed between them. He’s still not all the way hard and softening now without Dean pushing at his prostate. 

He might be able to come again if Dean were really insistent, maybe if Dean used his fingers again. Dean’s certainly done it before, drawing orgasm after orgasm from Castiel's body when even Castiel thought he was at his limit. But he doesn’t want that tonight. His body is still buzzing pleasantly from his release earlier, and from how well Dean has fucked him. Now, all he wants is to be close to Dean, like this. 

Castiel ducks down to kiss him again. “I’m very good, Dean.” 

Dean nods, kissing him again and then smiling. He helps Castiel lift his hips, pulling out and pressing a kiss to Castiel's shoulder when Castiel winces. Then he lies back, keeping his grip on Castiel firm, encouraging him to do the same. 

It takes a moment to arrange their legs comfortably, but once they do, Castiel settles against Dean’s side. They’re both sweaty, breathing heavily, but Castiel doesn’t care. Dean doesn’t either if the way he shifts and pulls Castiel closer is any indication. Castiel presses the side of his face against Dean’s chest, closes his eyes and revels in the gentle rise and fall of Dean’s breathing. If he tries, he can hear the soft thump of Dean’s heartbeat. 

He opens his eyes so he can watch the path of his finger, as it traces small circles on Dean’s sternum. “How was the drive?” 

Dean sighs. Another long rise and fall. “Long.”

Castiel tilts his head up a little, enough to catch Dean’s eye. “You finished the job early?” 

“Yeah,” Dean says. He lifts his hand and threads his fingers through Castiel's hair. Castiel shuts his eyes and leans into the touch. “Was mostly finished when I got your message, just had a few loose ends to tie up. My dad’s gonna stick around and sort it out, I’ll catch up with him in Louisville.” 

“He was okay with you taking off for a few days?” 

“He’s fine with it.” Dean shrugs, lifting Castiel's head with the move. “He’s got a thing to work out anyway.” 

Castiel frowns. “A thing?” 

Dean isn’t always the most eloquent of men, but he isn’t ordinarily as vague as this. Dean just shrugs again. “It’s not important. Another one of his projects. He’ll obsess over it for the next few months before something new catches his eye.” 

Whatever it is, he doesn’t want to talk about it. Castiel doesn’t have any right to push. 

“Well,” he says, settling his head back down against Dean’s shoulder. “I’m glad he could spare you.” 

Dean hums, squeezing Castiel where he holds him. “Me too.” He shifts, putting some space between them only so he can roll over onto his side and press back in. Castiel moves with him, lifting his weight from Dean’s arm and settling it on the pillow instead. “How you doing, anyway?” 

“What do you mean?” 

Dean reaches out, running his hand along Castiel's arm and up to his shoulder. The touch of his fingers leaves goosebumps in their wake. He appears to be choosing his words carefully. “I mean, uh. Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look pretty tired, Cas.” 

Abruptly, Castiel remembers the plates from his dinner still on the floor and the laptop with his work brief that he’d been reading on a Saturday night. He feels his face heat and he looks away, down at the sheets instead, “Yes, well. Work is busy.” 

Dean’s hand moves up, his fingers falling underneath Castiel's chin. When he tilts Castiel's head back, Castiel sees his face is open, careful. “Isn’t your work always busy?”

Castiel leans into the touch. “There’s a new deal Michael’s working on. He’s particularly excited to get it across the line.” 

Now that Castiel is looking at him, Dean apparently feels comfortable letting his hands roam again. He trails his finger down Castiel's neck, over the crown of his Adam’s apple, and into the hollow of his collarbone. “And it doesn’t matter that he’s working you to the bone?” 

Castiel braves a dry smile. “Has it ever?” 

Dean doesn’t smile back though. He frowns. “That’s not right, Cas.” 

Castiel doesn’t look away again, even though he wants to. He and Dean have had many conversations like this. They always end the same way. “It’s just the way it is, Dean. Michael’s—that’s just how he is.”

Dean is good at pushing, though. “I’m just saying, if I saw Sammy looking as tired as you do, I’d do something about it.” 

Castiel can’t help but feel a little resigned, hearing that. Dean often talks about his younger brother, about how much he worries about him. Sam is one of the most important people in Dean’s life, and his happiness has always been one of Dean’s highest priorities. Castiel knows his own family cares about him, of course they do, but not like that. 

“I think we’ve already established that you and Michael are very different people.” 

Dean sighs. “Yeah, but—” 

Castiel shuffles closer, hooking his knee up over Dean’s thigh. It puts him close enough to kiss Dean, so he does, lightly this time. As if they have all the time in the world. “Let’s not talk about my brother, please,” he says quietly. “I’ve only got you for a day.” 

Dean doesn’t look like he wants to drop it, but he does. It’s one of the things that’s easy between them, that makes this relationship work. As close as they are, as special as Dean is to him, they are not together. They are not partners. They are each other’s weekends, the odd late night, long car trips and busy airports between them. 

He sighs and takes the kiss Castiel offers him. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Okay.” 

⬩

It is, admittedly, far more than the casual arrangement they once had. 

The first time Castiel had seen him, Dean had been nothing more than a stranger at a bar. An exceptionally handsome stranger, of course, but a stranger nonetheless. He’d been closed off that night, leaning in close and tight over the bar, all of his attention on his drink. The set to his brow, the stern line of his shoulders, was enough to keep other patrons away. Castiel included. He’d had more than enough bad experiences with angry men in bars to know to keep his distance. 

It hadn’t been quite as easy to control his gaze, though. 

He did his best to keep his focus elsewhere. When they were younger, Gabriel had told him how unnerving his staring could be. Castiel figured out fairly quickly how to control it, saving his more severe looks for his and Michael’s business meetings, but every now and again he fell back into old habits. 

Like that night, every few minutes, his eyes would flick back to Dean. The low light had cast all sorts of shadows across his face, mapping the sharp lines of his jaw, his cheekbones and his nose. His frown was troubled, his gaze set on the glass in front of him as if he were deep in thought. Even the bartender seemed to know to stay away, pausing in front of him only to refill his glass, otherwise leaving him completely alone. 

Castiel had a booth table to himself, off in one of the darker corners of the bar. He’d been on yet another work trip, and impulse had walked him into the bar that night, rather than to his hotel. It had been a long day, they’d lost an important client and Castiel still had to call Michael to let him know. A drink was a good way to delay that, if not simply an easy way to clear Castiel's head. 

The thought of meeting someone in a bar had always seemed so odd to Castiel. He didn’t make a good first impression in the best of times. His closest friends were Anna and Gabriel, who only seemed to like him because they’d grown up with him and had the time to understand him. It seemed impossible that he might somehow charm a stranger, just in a few hours. 

But when Castiel had looked up again, Dean had been looking straight back. For a moment, Castiel was caught, held in green eyes that refused to let him go. Then reality caught him and he jerked his head away. 

He’d been surprised when a glass of bourbon was set down in front of him. Castiel had looked up the arm that held it, his gaze lifting from wrist, past elbow and shoulder, to meet those green eyes again. 

“You waitin’ on someone?” 

Castiel had stared for a long while. Long enough that anyone else might have backed off. Dean held his ground though, waiting patiently for Castiel to reply. Finally, Castiel had shaken his head. 

Dean had nodded and dropped into the seat opposite him. “Hope you like bourbon.” 

And that was it. They had talked for a few hours, Dean guiding Castiel most of the way, and when Dean had stood up there was no question that Castiel would do the same. They went back to Castiel's hotel room, and Dean had taken the lead there too. 

He only learned Dean’s name when they were finished. They’d laid on the bed next to each other, quiet for a while, until Dean had rolled over and draped himself across Castiel's back. 

“M’Dean.” He’d pressed the words into the back of Castiel's neck. 

Castiel had let out a long sigh. “My name is Castiel.” 

Dean went still. Then, “That’s a weird fucking name.” 

They’d laughed together, and fallen asleep together, and when Castiel's alarm went off the next morning, Dean was still there. He was dressed, sitting on the side of the bed, but he was still there. He’d motioned to a piece of paper on Castiel's bedside table. 

“I’m gonna get out of your hair,” Dean had said, “but you know. There’s my number. I don’t know if you even—” He’d paused, looked down at his knees and laughed. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll see you again.” 

For Castiel, there hadn’t been a question. 

⬩

Castiel wakes up before Dean. Light streams in through the curtains that they forgot to close the night before. Dean’s got his head turned away, putting his eyes in the shadows unconsciously, chasing sleep. The light hits his ear instead, his jawline and his neck. He has a freckle underneath his ear and, entirely helpless to resist, Castiel lifts a finger and touches it lightly. He’s gentle, but it’s enough for Dean to stir. 

He grumbles and tightens his hold on Castiel. Castiel kisses him before he can open his eyes. It takes Dean a moment to catch on, but when he does he smiles. As nice as it is, their mouths are sour from sleep, so it doesn’t last long. 

When they break apart, Dean rolls all the way over, letting his weight press Castiel down into the mattress. Castiel's laugh leaves him in a puff of air, his lungs suddenly squashed, but he doesn’t mind it at all. He takes a hold of Dean’s waist, keeping him in place, and tilts his head back, letting Dean kiss his jaw and neck instead. 

“Mm,” Dean murmurs against Castiel's skin. “Good morning.” 

His voice is so low in the mornings. Hearing it makes Castiel shiver. 

“Good morning,” Castiel says. “Did you sleep well?” 

Dean nips at Castiel's collarbone. “Like a baby.” 

Castiel drags his fingernails gently up the line of Dean’s back. He could lie here for hours, trapped underneath Dean. He is all warmth and bare skin. His cock is pressed up against Castiel's hip, half hard but not quite there. He moves against Castiel's body leisurely, taking pleasure in the press of their bodies but not actively chasing anything. Not yet. 

“S’there anything you want to do today?” Dean asks. 

Castiel scratches with his nails again, then smooths his hand over the same spot. “Mm,” he says, “this.” 

“Oh yeah?” Dean presses down more firmly, the movement of his hips a little more purposeful. “I can get behind that.” 

Castiel shuts his eyes and just _feels_ for a moment; the weight of Dean’s body, the smell of his skin, the heat of his mouth. As nice as it would be to keep Dean in bed all day, they’ll need to find some time to eat. From the light that’s spilling in through the windows, Castiel can only assume they’ve slept away most of the morning. 

“There’s breakfast downstairs,” Castiel says. “I think they’re serving until eleven?” 

Dean pulls back, grinning. “Oh, fuck yeah,” he says. “Let’s do that.” 

He shifts his body away from Castiel's, and immediately reaches for his pants. Castiel can’t help but laugh at his abruptness. “Now?” 

Dean pauses to point a meaningful finger at Castiel. “Hey,” he says. “Mini-sausages wait for no man.” 

With Dean like this, playful and grinning and relaxed, it’s impossible to say no to him. Castiel gets up and gets dressed, and Dean whoops his victory. When Castiel checks his watch, he finds that it’s actually only just past nine-thirty, which gives them more than enough time to get down to breakfast and eat their fill. Dean rushes them anyway, his hand at the small of Castiel's back. 

Castiel gives his room number to the woman at the door of the breakfast room and goes to find them a table while Dean heads straight for the food. Castiel gets them a cup of coffee each and picks up some cutlery, before heading after him. By the time Castiel has filled his bowl, Dean is sitting down, two stacked plates in front of him, filled with toast, eggs, sausages and bacon. 

When Castiel sits down opposite him, Dean takes one look at the bowl in Castiel's hand and sighs. “Cereal, _really_?” 

Castiel settles in his chair, pulling it forward so he can be closer to the table. His knee knocks against Dean’s. “I like cereal.” 

“You have _every_ breakfast option on the menu in this room,” Dean says, gesturing at the buffet. “They’re making omelettes to _order._ And you want cornflakes?” 

Castiel shrugs. “They’re good. I like them with honey.” 

“Omelettes, Cas!” 

Castiel leans in. “They’re not good omelettes, Dean,” he says. Riling Dean up is a skill Castiel's has become particularly proficient in. “At least with cereal, there’s no room for them to ruin it.” 

Dean narrows his eyes and takes a long, considered bite of his breakfast. After a moment, he points his fork in Castiel's direction. “You think you could do better?” 

Castiel just nods. “Yes.” 

“Really,” Dean says, dry. “You make omelettes?” 

“I make great omelettes.” It’s not a lie, actually. Anna had visited him when he was at college and realised quickly that he was living exclusively off ramen noodles. She’d made it her mission to teach Castiel how to cook, and omelettes were one of the first things on her list. 

Still obnoxiously suspicious, Dean says, “Yeah, I’ll believe it when I see it.” 

Something in Castiel's stomach swoops. That’s — it’s a little too close to the things they don’t talk about; the boundaries that they don’t breach. The only way Dean will ever see Castiel make an omelette would be if Castiel was in a position to cook. At the hotels, that isn’t an option. But if Dean saw Castiel at home? 

It doesn’t matter. 

Dean hasn’t been to Castiel's home, and Castiel hasn’t been to Dean’s. That’s not going to change any time soon. 

Dean seems to catch where their conversation has landed at the same time Castiel does. His cheeks go a little pink and he coughs, clears his throat and looks back down to his plate. 

“How are your sausages?” Castiel asks. 

Dean nods. Something flashes across his face, but it is there and gone so fast that Castiel can’t quite put a name to it. “They’re good.” 

“Good.” 

“You fly out tomorrow?” 

“Yes.” Castiel eats a spoonful of his cornflakes. It needs more honey. “My flight leaves O’Hare at three forty-five.” 

“You got work stuff before then?” 

Dean knows the drill with Castiel's work. He’s also had more than enough time to learn about Castiel's not-quite-healthy work ethic. He’s never judgemental about it, though. It means that Castiel is never afraid to be honest with him, where work is concerned. “Two client meetings, yes.” 

Dean starts to scrape his fork across his plate, gathering up the remnants of his meal until his plate is completely clear. He’s polished off one plate, looking enthusiastically to the second. Castiel is only halfway done with his cereal. 

“You got anything you need to do before?” Dean asks. 

“No,” Castiel says. “Michael sent through some notes for me on Friday, but I went through them all yesterday.” 

That makes Dean grin. “So the day’s free, then?” 

Castiel shakes his head. “No, actually.” He waits until Dean frowns to say. “Fully booked, with you here.” 

The grin returns, something wicked in his eyes. 

Once they are done with breakfast, they head back upstairs. They spend the day in bed, exactly as planned. Castiel has had a long time to learn Dean’s body, but every opportunity feels like he’s exploring new territory. The time passes quickly like it always does. They get burgers delivered to the lobby for lunch, rock-paper-scissors on who has to go down and collect it (Castiel), then order room service again for dinner. Dean tries to show Castiel an episode of his favourite show, but they get distracted fairly quickly and spend the rest of the night tangled up in one another. 

Castiel's alarm goes off at exactly six a.m. 

Dean groans when Castiel rolls over to silence his phone. For a second, it feels like his hold tightens around Castiel's waist, but it loosens fast enough that Castiel could have imagined it. He lifts his arm and lets Castiel slip out of the bed. Castiel showers and gets dressed in his suit. Aside from putting his pyjamas and toothbrush into his suitcase, he’d packed everything the night before. By six-twenty-five, Castiel is ready to leave. 

He doesn’t though. He sits on the end of the bed, his hand settling comfortably on Dean’s hip. 

Dean, who had clearly fallen asleep again while Castiel had showered, startles under the touch. “Sorry,” he says, hasty, “Sorry, I’ll get up.” 

Castiel shakes his head. “Checkout isn’t until eleven. You can stay.” 

Dean frowns a little. “You sure?” 

Castiel leans down, close. It feels foolish. Being dressed in his suit again, suitcase at the door, reminds him that he’s got a real life to return to. Clinging onto Dean for a moment or two longer won’t help anything, but he does it anyway. He noses in near Dean’s ear, kissing his cheek. “Stay. Have breakfast.” 

Dean turns his head and catches Castiel's mouth with his own. Against Castiel's lips, he says. “Mhm, okay.” 

Though he wants to linger, Castiel pulls away. He’s going to be late if he stalls any longer, and that will make Michael unbearable. He squeezes Dean’s shoulder as he goes. He doesn’t say, ‘ _I’ll see you soon_ ’ because it wouldn’t feel honest. He doesn’t know when he’ll see Dean next and promising that it will be soon will only disappoint him later. 

As Castiel gets to the door, pulling out the handle of his suitcase, Dean lifts his head from the pillow. “Hey, Cas?” 

Castiel pauses. “Yes?” 

“You’ll text me?” 

It’s the closest thing to ‘ _see you soon_ ’ that they have. Castiel nods, smiling gently, and expects Dean to slump back against the pillows. He doesn’t though. He keeps his neck craned up, watching as Castiel opens the door. It’s difficult to walk away from him, but Castiel makes himself do it. Dean isn’t his, after all. Dean is Castiel's weekend, an escape, a brief moment of solace from the doldrums of his normal life. 

But the weekend’s over, and Castiel has to go back to work. 

⬩


	2. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> stage, set. have some plot! x

⬩

“Castiel, there you are.” 

It’s a rainy day in New York. The sky is cloudy and grey, and it makes the shadows from their neighbouring sky rises even darker than normal. It never feels quite right to be at work when the weather is like this, Castiel thinks. The feeling reminds him of the early years of his career when working on the weekends still felt unnatural to him.

Michael’s hand claps down on Castiel's shoulder, and he pushes all thoughts of the weather from his mind. He’s just finished a virtual meeting with one of their key clients, a consulting session with the firm’s senior partners and a few of their administrative staff. They’d only looked at the basics — precautionary guidelines on how best to handle sensitive data, how to respond to media questions without implicating the company, when to refer matters back to Castiel rather than attempt to handle it on their own — but considering the amount of money they paid the firm each year, Michael would still want a report on how it went. 

Sure enough, 

“How did it go?” Michael asks. He falls easily into step with Castiel, strolling along with him as they head back to the main office. All virtual conferences were held in the front-facing meeting rooms. All the real work took place behind their locked security doors. “Did the Harrison’s both attend?” 

Castiel nods. He pulls his door-pass from his pocket and bumps it against the scanner, waiting for the click of the door unlocking before he pushed the door open. He held it open for Michael and then followed him through. “Yes. Joseph was late, but Keiran was happy to start without him. I stayed on the line to catch Joseph up once the session was finished.” 

“Good, good,” Michael says. 

“I’ll be following up with them later in the week,” Castiel goes on. “But it might be prudent for you to phone them also. I believe Keiran would respond well to a call from you.”

The Harrison brothers were similar to Michael in that sense. They were driven by status. Michael employed hundreds of perfectly qualified lawyers, all of them more than capable of running a session like the one that Castiel has just finished. They would never settle for a junior lawyer, though. It was Castiel's surname on the building, after all, and if they couldn’t get the CEO to run their training — well, they would only settle for the CEO’s brother. 

It’s nothing new. At least, Castiel has had time to grow used to it. 

“Excellent.” Michael squeezes Castiel's shoulder and grins at him brightly. “Excellent work. What would I do without you?” 

Castiel doesn’t know how to answer that, so he doesn’t. Michael doesn’t notice. 

“Do you remember Vincent Hu?” Michael asks. “From Kensington Partners?” 

Another big account of theirs, although not quite in the same playing field as the Harrison brothers. Castiel had worked with a few of their staff members closely when they’d been charged with economic espionage. He hadn’t spent a lot of time with Mr. Hu, but he certainly recognised the name. 

So he nods. “Yes.” 

He and Michael have made it to the door of Castiel's office. It’s one of four senior staff offices which overlook the open plan bullpen where the rest of the employees sit. He opens the door, again gesturing for Michael to enter before he follows suit. 

“He emailed me this morning,” Michael says. He drops into the small couch that Castiel has near the office door, and watches as Castiel puts his laptop on his desk. “He’s in town and he’s got a friend he’d like to refer to us. I told him we’d meet him for lunch. Does twelve-thirty work for you?” 

Castiel glances at the clock on the wall as he sits down. It’s almost eleven-thirty now. He’d planned to go for lunch with Hannah, but that won’t matter to Michael. A referral from Kensington Partners is too big an opportunity to lose. 

“It can,” Castiel says. He’ll have to text Hannah to let her know, but he doesn’t expect that she’ll mind. She only works two floors down, in their finance department, so it won’t be difficult to reschedule. 

“Great.” Michael stands up, clapping his hands together. It’s something he has a habit of doing when a deal is done as if the clap is somehow finalising matters. “We’ll take the car. Meet me downstairs at twelve.” 

Castiel nods. 

“Good work, again,” Michael says, as he leaves. He lingers in the doorway. “I’ll let you know how the call with Keiran goes, just in case he wants to book a follow-up.” 

Again, Castiel nods. Michael leaves, shutting the door behind him as he goes. At the very least, with the Harrison brothers happy and a potential deal on the line, Michael is in good spirits. Whenever one of his stormier moods hits, the office feels something like a battlefield. Today, the staff’s relief as his good mood almost lightens the entire floor. Through the office windows, Castiel can see that the staff are relaxed, chatting easily with each other while they work. It’s something that he can observe from a distance, but never quite engage with. He is Michael’s brother, after all. They treat Castiel with wariness by proxy. 

Castiel leaves them to it, returning his attention to his own work. He plugs his laptop into the port that lets him use the additional screens on his desk. As the laptop adjusts to the new settings, he pulls his phone from his pocket. He needs to text Hannah while he still remembers. 

He keeps his phone on silent while running presentations, and he can see a few things have come through in the last hour. He has a few new marketing emails in his personal inbox and a notification that a new software update is available. These, he ignores, in favour of the unread text he’s received, which reads: 

> _you live in nyc right [received - 10:58]_

Castiel blinks at his phone. 

To say that Dean’s message is out of the ordinary would be an understatement. It takes Castiel a moment to even parse the meaning in Dean’s words, which is embarrassing considering their simplicity. Even when he does decide that _yes,_ Dean is asking where Castiel lives, he can’t quite keep his thoughts straight. 

This isn’t — they don’t _do this._ This isn’t how he and Dean work. 

He hasn’t seen Dean since Chicago. It’s been almost two months since he’d taken that trip. They’d texted a few times since then. Above Dean’s most recent text, Castiel can see their message history. There is the message he sent letting Dean know that Castiel was in Philadelphia, and underneath that, Dean’s reply that he was in Nevada. That had put an end to any hopes that they might catch up during that trip. A few weeks later, Castiel had sent that he was in Portland. Dean had replied again; he was still out West, and too far away for a quick trip. 

That is their normal. That’s how he and Dean operate. One of them texts the other, tells them where they are, and the other responds if that’s workable or not. They meet in far away, faceless cities, in hotel rooms, or motel rooms, depending on which of them has the booking. 

He stares at the message for far too long. 

It isn’t the end of the world if he confirms that yes, he does live in New York. It’s a big city. It’s not as if Dean could use the confirmation to somehow track him down. 

Even if he did, would Castiel mind? 

With that shaky thought in mind, Castiel types out his response. 

> _Yes. Why? [sent - 11:39]_

His chest feels tight as he exits out of the text window with Dean, and searches for Hannah’s number. By the time he has sent her a message, advising her of the change of lunch plans, Dean has replied. The phone vibrates with the message, but Castiel can’t see it in any detail until he opens it. He forces himself to finish the message to Hannah before returning to Dean. 

> _can i see you [received - 11:42]_

Castiel sits with that for a little while, floored. 

This is different. It’s very different, and Castiel isn’t sure exactly what he should do with it. He can’t deny the twist in his belly at the idea of seeing Dean again, and so soon. His next trip out of state isn’t for a few weeks, and their last attempts to meet up had gone so poorly that Castiel hasn’t had much faith that this time would be any different. 

But Dean is here, apparently. In New York, or at least nearby, and wanting to see Castiel. Castiel hasn’t made any secret of the city that he lives in, and if Dean is in town, he could see this as just another of their normal interludes. Maybe Castiel's understanding that they didn’t see each other close to home was simply a projection, an assumption made with the wrong information. 

If Dean is in town, then he’s surely already got somewhere to stay. So what does it matter that this is the city Castiel lives in? A hotel room is a hotel room, no matter its proximity to Castiel's apartment. 

> _Yes. Where are you staying? [sent - 11:50]_

His heart thunders. 

It takes Dean a little longer to reply this time. While Castiel waits, he realises he only has ten minutes left to get downstairs to meet Michael. Hannah replies, confirming what Castiel already knew; she is more than happy to move their lunch to tomorrow. It’s only when Castiel is shrugging on his overcoat that Dean’s response comes through. 

> _nowhere yet [received - 11:52]_

Then, quickly, a second message arrives. 

> _i can get a room somewhere if u want [received - 11:52]_

Castiel waits another minute to see if Dean is going to send anything else. He doesn’t. It’s not as though Castiel really needs one. There is an unwritten alternative that Dean doesn’t need to spell out for him. 

If Castiel wants him to get a hotel room, he will. But if Castiel doesn’t ask, well. There is clearly another option. 

As Castiel locks his office and heads for the elevators, he tries to imagine Dean in his apartment. He’s no decorator. The apartment is almost entirely unchanged from its original state, the same today as it was when Castiel bought it. He’s got his own furniture, of course, and the few precious belongings that Castiel’s held onto since his childhood. He has a few family pictures peppered around the place, but nothing more than that. Can he see Dean sitting on his couch? Or drinking a beer at the kitchen island? 

In his bed? 

The elevator is filled as he travels down to the ground floor. Around him, people speak casually to each other. Some of them are Novak Consolidated staff, who are keeping to innocent subjects while he’s in such close proximity. Others, those who join them from the lower floors, pay him no mind. 

Castiel ignores them all and stares at his phone. 

The ball is in his court, as it were. Dean has left the decision to him. He’s done so casually, without any ceremony, which suggests that this isn’t as big an issue as Castiel is building it up to be. And thinking about it with that lens — Castiel realises that Dean is right. What’s the difference between meeting Dean in a hotel room or in his apartment? The only real change would be that Dean saves the hundred dollars he’d surely have to spend to book somewhere in the city at such late notice. 

Bolstered by the realisation, Castiel writes out his address before he can second guess himself any further. He presses the send button with such decisiveness that he almost fumbles and drops the phone completely. 

Of course, once he’s stowed the phone in his trench coat pocket, panic floods him. There’s no time to give it any thought. The elevator doors open and Castiel sees Michael across the glossy lobby floor. Through the building doors, he can see their car waiting for them. 

Whatever anxiety he feels over Deans imminent arrival will have to wait. 

⬩

Lunch goes well. Michael’s client, Mr. Hu, is a charming man who likes to keep his work meetings informal. Castiel knows that he’s a little too stiff in settings like these, but Michael makes up for it by buying expensive champagne and giving Mr. Hu free-reign to order anything on the menu. Castiel answers the questions directed to him — who will be the main contact for Mr. Hu’s friend? What matters will they be able to look after on their behalf? — but mostly lets Michael do the talking. It’s a strategy that they’ve had time to master. 

When they’ve finished eating, and Mr. Hu has promised to bring his friend to the office the following Tuesday, Michael and Castiel return to the office. It’s only when Castiel is back in his office that he braves checking his phone again. It has burned hot in his pocket the entire meeting, but he’s been diligent in ignoring it. 

Dean has only sent one more text message,

> _thanks cas [received - 12:03]_

Cas doesn’t know what to do with that. A ‘ _you’re welcome_ ’ doesn’t feel quite right for this situation. Uncertainty plucks at him, though, and he doesn’t feel quite content to leave it entirely. He has no idea when Dean is planning on meeting him. Dean knows that he works, so surely he won’t show up at Castiel’s apartment in the middle of the day, but outside of that Castiel doesn’t have any information that he can use to guess at Dean’s movements. 

He’s never texted Dean this many times in one day. It feels almost presumptive to send another message, but Castiel does his best to stifle that feeling. He’ll feel better when he knows more. Steadier. 

> _When will you arrive? [sent - 13:37]_

There is no use in simply waiting for Dean to respond, so Castiel shuts the phone in his desk drawer and focuses on work. He has a few more meetings this afternoon, this time with the staff rather than any clients, and there are some documents that need finalising before he shares them. He quickly checks his emails for anything urgent, then settles into editing. Returning to comfortable territory settles him, lets him step out of his own head for a little while. 

Right before he leaves for his meeting, he checks his phone again. 

> _not til tonight. i’ll text you when i’m close [received - 13:40]_

There. At the very least, Castiel knows that Dean isn’t at his apartment now, waiting for him. Knowing that Dean will let him know when he is close to arriving is good, too. 

He leaves the phone in his office when he leaves for his meetings. The rest of the day passes both quickly and slowly. Time seems to drag, the clock barely changing every time Castiel glances up to check. But then, when five o’clock does arrive, Castiel feels like he’s had no time at all to process this new change. 

Dean is coming to his apartment _tonight._ He hasn’t sent any other text messages, but he could be only a few hours away by now. Castiel doesn’t know where he’s coming from, or if he’s even on the road yet. 

Castiel has been known to stay at the office until six or seven most weekdays, but today he leaves early. He’s not sure if any of his colleagues notice, because he doesn’t really notice anything on the way home. He’s too caught up in his own thoughts, trying and failing not to panic. 

When he gets to his apartment, he has to pause, entirely at a loss for what to do next. He changes into more comfortable clothes — a t-shirt and a pair of black sweatpants — and hangs his work suit away. He tidies his bedroom, then his bathroom, and then the rest of the apartment. He only remembers that he needs to eat when his stomach growls. He hesitates for a moment, unsure if he should wait for Dean before dinner, but he doesn’t know exactly when Dean will be arriving. 

He cooks something simple for dinner, the recipe entirely from memory. Of course, it’s when he sits down and eats his first mouthful, that his phone finally buzzes again. 

> _about an hour out. [received - 19:37]_

Castiel puts his food aside. He makes sure to include as much information as possible in his response so that Dean doesn’t have to ask him any more questions while he drives. 

> _Okay. I have a parking spot underneath my building that you can use. You will need to buzz my apartment from the entrance. I am number eighty-four. [sent - 19:41]_

Dean replies quickly. 

> _thanks . see you soon [received - 19:42]_

Castiel puts his phone aside, face down, and focuses on staying calm. He finishes his dinner, washes up his dishes, then returns to the couch. He turns the television on, desperate for some sort of distraction, but it doesn’t work. Almost immediately he tunes it out. He’s not even sure what program is playing. 

All of his attention is on his apartment door. It doesn’t even make sense for him to be watching it so closely. Dean will need to use the buzzer so that Castiel can let him into the underground garage. Then he’ll need to use it again to be able to get into the elevators to get to Castiel’s floor. Castiel will have more than enough notice before Dean physically gets to his door. 

Even with all of that in mind, Castiel can’t pull his gaze away. 

So he sits and he waits. Somewhere in there, he washes his dishes and puts them away. Then he returns to the couch and keeps waiting. 

The buzzer, when it does finally go off, scares the life out of him. He startles so violently that he has to take a moment to berate himself before he gets up to answer. There is no need to be so jumpy. It’s only Dean. He needs to get a grip. 

He clears his throat before pressing the intercom button. “Dean?” 

The speaker crackles a little. “Yeah, it’s me.” 

Castiel swallows. “The park is on the second basement level. It’s number eighty-four.” He’s already said so in his text message, but there’s no harm in repeating himself. 

“Eighty-four, got it.” 

Castiel presses the little carpark button. He hears the rumble of a car engine just before the microphone cuts off, then nothing. He doesn’t move from where he’s standing though. For one thing, Dean will be calling again shortly to get into the elevators. For another, his thoughts are so jumbled, his pulse is racing so fast, that it’s all he can do to stay standing. 

It doesn’t take long for the second call to come through. “Dean?” he asks, again. 

“What floor are you on?” Dean asks. 

“Eight.” 

And now it is prudent to look at the front door because there’s nothing left between them. Almost no time at all passes before Castiel hears the soft ‘ _ding!’_ of the elevator, announcing its arrival. He sees the hallway lights flicker on through the crack at the base of his door. 

When the knock does come, Castiel lets out a deep breath. His unease, his nervousness and all of those worried thoughts; none of that is useful to him now. He does his best to let it go. 

There is no ignoring how tired Dean looks when Castiel does open the door. This isn’t the tiredness that Castiel is used to seeing. There are dark bags underneath his eyes, and his shoulders seem to droop with some unseen weight. He smiles when he sees Castiel. Something about the way he’s holding himself seems to soften, and Castiel feels the tightness in his chest unspool. 

It’s good to see him. 

“Hello Dean.” 

“Hey Cas.” 

Castiel steps quickly to the side, making room. It feels easy, which is absolutely laughable considering Castiel has spent more than half his day worrying about this exact moment. “Please, come in.” 

Dean does so, albeit a little awkwardly. He steps carefully past Castiel, looking around Castiel’s apartment like he’s not quite sure if he’s allowed to do so. He stops not too far from the threshold and looks back to Cas. 

“Thanks for, uh...” He pauses, dragging a hand across the back of his neck, and trailing off. Under the downlights of Castiel’s entry hall, Castiel can see that his skin is a little pink. “Sorry for the late notice.” 

“That’s okay,” Castiel says, and means it. He’s almost surprised by how much he means it. All of his stress over Dean’s visit has drained away. Especially seeing Dean look the way he does. Castiel motions further into the apartment, where the entryway turns into the open plan kitchen and living area. “You can put your bag down here if you’d like.” 

Dean takes that to mean beside the kitchen island. “Thanks.” 

Castiel slips past him, into the main part of the kitchen. Everything is clean — he’s not a messy person by nature, and his several hours of cleaning time gave him more than enough time to go over everything twice — but he still finds himself running a cupped palm across the island bench. A last-minute check for dust that he might have missed. 

“I’ve eaten already,” Castiel says, “but I can reheat—” 

Thinking of food, Castiel misses the way that Dean follows him and crowds into his space until he’s being pressed up against the cool stone. Dean doesn’t hesitate, kissing Castiel like a claim, his hands gripping Castiel tight. Castiel has just enough room to bring his own hands up, although they hover in the air for a moment with his surprise. 

For a moment, Dean’s mouth, Dean’s touch, is all there is. His tongue presses at Castiel’s bottom lip and his fingers scrape at Castiel’s hips through the soft cotton of Castiel’s work shirt. Castiel brings a hand down on Dean’s bicep. He’s wearing one of his thicker jackets, but Castiel can still feel his muscle beneath it. His other hand flails for a moment longer, before he settles it against Dean’s chest. His fingertips brush Dean’s collarbone, then hook into the collar of Dean’s tee. 

Though it seems impossible, Dean pushes in even closer. The full line of his body presses up against Castiel and doesn’t stop. The pressure is divine until it isn’t. The edge of the bench cuts into the side of Castiel’s hip and he hisses. 

Dean pulls back, but only a fraction, his lips a bitten red. The pain goes as quickly as it came. They stare at each other for a long moment, the only sound between then Castiel’s panting breath. 

“Sorry.” Dean ducks down and steals another kiss, this one quick, rushed. “Sorry, I just—can we just—” 

There is something desperate to him, something that Castiel hasn’t seen before. His voice is barely more than a whisper. His fingers flex their grip at Castiel’s hip. Castiel doesn’t have the best track record in reading people, but this he can make sense of. It’s _Dean._ Whatever it is, he doesn’t want to talk about it. He wants to feel this, instead. 

So Castiel gives it to him. His approach is a little softer than Dean’s had been, his kisses a little lighter. He holds on tight to Dean’s shirt and tugs him back in, shifting slightly so that the bench doesn’t dig in the way that it had. 

“Couch?” Dean pulls away to ask. 

Castiel feels a little too dazed for questions right now, but he manages to nod. “Couch.” 

They stumble there together, neither of them able to take their hands off each other for long. Dean’s knee makes a loud thump when it hits the coffee table, but he doesn’t seem to care. He guides Castiel like a man on a mission, pushes him down onto the couch and wastes no time climbing into his lap. 

Castiel loses track of time. He doesn’t know how long they spend there. The only thing he does know is that he’s being _consumed._ Dean is taking everything that he can, and he’s doing it with the sweet roll of his hips, and long, deep kisses. He adjusts his hold, moving his hands from Cas’ hips and framing his chin and his neck instead. 

Castiel slips a hand underneath Dean’s shirt but doesn’t roam far. He satisfies himself smoothing his palms across Dean’s warm skin, in the space right above the waist of his jeans. 

Eventually, they calm. Dean’s touch shifts from a wild, desperate thing, into something a little softer. His kisses turn gentle until Dean isn’t so much kissing him as he is brushing his lips across Castiel’s. He keeps his weight heavy on Castiel’s lap, but the rocking of his hips slows to more of a constant press. 

When Castiel glances up at him, he sees that Dean’s eyes are squeezed shut. It takes some coaxing for him to open them. Castiel touches his face gently, soothing his fingertip at the edge of Dean’s brow bone. He makes a noise, an inquisitive sound that he can’t quite name. 

Dean’s eyes flicker open. 

Then, for a long moment, they simply watch each other. 

The television is still on behind them, although neither of them pays it any mind. It eases the silence between them and makes it feel easy for Castiel to graze his fingers down across Dean’s cheek, and press his thumb to Dean’s bottom lip. 

There is no missing the way that Dean shakes under Castiel’s touch. Castiel doesn’t mind — of course, he doesn’t — but he’d like to understand. 

He blinks a few times, straightening his thoughts. His voice is hoarse when he says, “Is something—?” No, that isn’t the right approach. He tries again. “Is there something you want to talk about?” 

Dean lets out a small little breath. Castiel feels it more than it hears it, the tension in Dean’s back easing by a fraction. He nods, the movement still small. 

“Can we—uh.” Dean’s gaze dances for a moment, and he looks anywhere but at Castiel. It takes a moment, but when his eyes settle a moment later, he looks a little surer. “There is. But can we just—can we do this, for a bit longer?” 

This is the most unsettled that Castiel has ever seen him. Concern flares hot in his chest, but Castiel does his best to stifle it. If he can do nothing else, he can give what Dean is asking for. 

“Of course.” 

Dean’s quick relieved sigh tells him that it’s the right move. Dean leans back in, stealing Castiel’s mouth for himself again, and time blurs once more. The urgency from earlier has all but faded. This time, the kisses stay soft and light. Dean’s hands roam along Castiel’s chest, over his shoulders and down his arms, but never any further than that. His hips stay still. 

They have never done this. They have never kissed for no other reason but to kiss. That thought might have panicked Castiel earlier, but again, the worry and anxiety doesn’t come. With his focus on Dean, this all feels impossibly easy. 

It’s only when Dean’s stomach rumbles that they stop for a second time.

“You’re hungry,” Castiel says against his lips. “I have food.” 

Dean bites lightly on Castiel’s bottom lip. “I’m okay.” 

Any other time, Castiel might have let himself be distracted. Not tonight, though. Not with Dean like this, shaken and unsure. “Dean,” he says, pulling back and placing his palm flat on Dean’s sternum. “You should eat something. I have pasta we can reheat.” 

Dean takes a deep breath and looks ready to argue when his stomach growls again. This time it’s louder, and Castiel gives him a pointed look. 

Dean sighs. “Yeah, alright.” 

Castiel drops his hand down to Dean’s thighs, which still bracket his hips. Only then does Dean seem to remember that he’s sitting on Cas. He blushes and rolls his weight away. 

“Sorry,” he says, as Castiel stands. “Do you need a hand?” 

Castiel shakes his head. “I’ll be alright. Would you like a drink?” As soon as he says it, he thinks frantically about what he has to offer. Anna had brought some of her favourite beer around the last time that she’d visited, but that was months ago now. “I think I have a beer.” 

“Beer’s good.” 

Dean follows Castiel into the kitchen, despite Castiel’s assurance that he’d be fine on his own. He stays close as Castiel gets the leftover pasta from the fridge and reheats it in the microwave. Once it’s in, Castiel searches out one of Anna’s beers and hands it over. 

Dean leans casually against the island, his hip in almost exactly the same spot that he’d pressed Cas up against earlier. There is no ignoring his pink, bitten mouth, and Castiel can only imagine what he must look like now. 

As Dean screws the cap off his beer, he glances around. “This is a nice place.” 

“Thank you.” 

“You own it?” 

The microwave dings and Castiel pulls the pasta out as he says, “I do. I’ve been here for about four years, now.” He transfers the now warm pasta to a bowl and holds it out. 

Dean takes it. “That’s great,” he says. “Thanks.” 

Even though Castiel had suggested that Dean eats in his room, it feels more natural to settle at the bar stools on the other side of the kitchen island. Dean follows his lead, sitting on the stool next to Cas and digging into the food. For a moment, the only sounds in the room are the television and the tapping of Dean’s fork on the side of his bowl. 

“Is it okay?” Castiel asks. 

“It’s great, Cas.” Dean twirls some spaghetti onto his fork and glances over at him. “You made it?” 

Castiel nods. “Yes. It’s a simple recipe.” Some tomatoes, some herbs, and a little bit of onion and garlic. Even Castiel can’t mess that up. 

“It’s good,” Dean says again. 

Cas smiles. “I’m glad.” 

It goes a little quiet then, while Dean eats. Castiel searches for something to fill the silence. “How was your drive?” 

Dean shrugs and finishes chewing before he says, “It was good. Easy.” He takes another mouthful. 

“Were you driving for long?” 

Dean has never complained about long hours on the road, but Castiel knows that after the fourth or fifth hour, his lower back starts to ache. He never makes a fuss, but there is a little noise he makes in bed that Castiel has long since learnt to recognise. It’s a low groan that he lets out when he can finally stretch out on a mattress. From the look in Dean’s eyes, Castiel thinks there is a fairly good chance he’ll hear it tonight. 

Dean confirms the theory. “Since around lunch.”

“Did you stop on the way?” 

“Nope.” 

The easy shake of Dean’s head catches Castiel a little off guard. It’s not quite _late,_ but it’s late enough. A glance at the clock says that it’s just before ten o’clock, which means Dean has been driving for eight or nine hours. That’s quite the distance for a casual visit. 

“Where were you coming from?” Castiel asks. 

“Was doing a job in Detroit,” Dean says. “Couldn’t finish it. But I’ve got a friend who was close by, he’ll wrap everything up.” 

Castiel blinks. Detroit? He’d been expecting somewhere closer — somewhere that makes New York a convenient stop on the way, somewhere that explains why Dean is able to drop by like this. Detroit is —

Well. Detroit isn’t that. 

“I’m freaking you out,” Dean says. 

Castiel clears his throat. “No,” he says quickly. “You’re not.” It’s not quite a lie. “I’m just a little—” 

Confused. 

That’s what Castiel is going to say, but then Dean says, 

“My dad died.” 

and all thoughts of himself fly instantly from Castiel’s head. For a moment, devoid of tact, the only thing he can do is stare. Dean watches him while he does, quiet, waiting. He takes a sip of his beer. Then he ducks his head, laughing dryly.

“Shit, sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t dump this on you.” 

“ _Dean_.” Castiel says his name so emphatically that Dean’s wry smile dies on his lips. “Don’t—don’t worry about me. I’m so sorry. Are you alright?” 

Dean puts his now-empty bowl down on the bench between them. He takes a moment to align the fork, making sure it sits straight. He shakes his head a little hopelessly, and doesn’t look up when he says, “Honestly, Cas, I got no clue.” 

“Of course not,” Castiel says. What a stupid thing to ask. “I’m sorry.” 

Dean shrugs and glances up at him. “Nothing to apologise for.” 

There are things that Castiel should be saying. He’s sure of it. Things that you’re supposed to say when someone loses a loved one. But as each possibility comes to him — _I’m sorry for your loss, he’s in a better place_ — it all feels trite. 

Castiel swallows around a dry throat. Carefully, he says, “Can I ask what happened?” 

“Semi hit him,” Dean says. He gives another little shrug. Nothing physically has changed in the last few minutes, but he seems smaller now, hunched over Castiel’s island bench, his arms folded, leaning on the marble. “The other driver’s fine, which is — I don’t know, something, I guess.” 

Castiel doesn’t even think before he reaches out. He grips the back of Dean’s hand and squeezes tightly. “Dean,” he says because it’s the only thing he _can_ say. “I’m so—” 

Dean cuts him off. “It was quick, at least.” He gives a brittle smile then, a shaky, casual thing like he’s updating Castiel on the weather. “Or what’s what they told me.”

“Dean,” Castiel says again. 

Abruptly, Dean yanks his hand away. “Fuck. I’m—” He pushes his stool backwards and stands, looking anywhere but at Castiel. “This ain’t your problem.” 

Castiel carefully rounds the island. “Dean. It’s okay. Whatever you need.” 

“This isn’t us,” Dean says. He says it fast, too fast, and shifts his weight from his left foot to his right. He can’t stay still. “I know that, okay, I just. I didn’t.” He cuts himself off again. 

“You don’t need to explain,” Castiel says. 

“I do, Cas.” Dean makes an aborted move, suddenly still, and it stops Castiel in his tracks. “This is weird, okay? I know that. I shouldn’t be here.” 

He looks at Castiel like Castiel is the one who might start running, and it’s strange, but it’s that look which settles something in Castiel. Knowing that Dean is as thrown as he is by this turn of events is reassuring, more than anything. Castiel isn’t alone. 

“It’s not weird,” Castiel tells him. He starts moving again, his arms out between them, a gentle reach. “It’s different.” Dean doesn’t move away. He lets Castiel step in close, lets Castiel settle his hands on Dean’s waist. Just touching him reassures Castiel even further. “But I’m happy to have you.” 

Dean breathes deeply, watching Castiel. “Really?” 

Castiel holds him a little tighter. “Yes,” he says. Then, because once doesn’t feel like enough, he says it again. “Yes.” 

He keeps his approach slow but doesn’t stop until he has wrapped his arms around Dean. This is new, too. They don’t hug, not like this, not without sex, but Castiel is going by instinct. He has no idea what he should be doing, or what he should be saying. This is all he has. It feels right. 

It takes Dean a moment but eventually Castiel feels him let out a long breath. He relaxes just a little into Castiel’s hold. Slowly, he brings his arms up and around Castiel’s shoulders. When he realises that Castiel isn’t going anywhere anytime soon, his grip tightens. He buries his head in Castiel’s neck and takes another breath. 

“Okay,” he says. “Okay.” 

He seems to be speaking more to himself, than to Castiel, so Castiel doesn’t say anything. He just holds on, pressing his nose against Dean’s collarbone. They stand there for a while, holding each other before Castiel thinks to pull his head away. 

He goes just far enough that he can look up at Dean’s face. “What do you need?” 

Dean wets his lips but doesn’t say anything. His eyes are clouded, sad. His mouth is turned downwards, but it’s not a frown, not a scowl. It’s just — it’s an answer, in and of itself, and Castiel understands. 

Dean can’t tell him what he needs. Dean doesn’t know what he needs. Castiel is just going to have to figure it out for himself.

“Alright,” Castiel says, bolstered by this realisation. “You’ve been on the road for a long time. Do you want—?” No, that’s another question. Castiel quickly changes tack. “Let’s have a shower.” 

“Both of us?” Dean’s voice is raspy. 

“If you don’t want—” 

“No,” Dean’s fingers tighten on Castiel’s shoulder. “I want.” 

Castiel lets out a breath. “Okay then.” He pulls out of Dean’s grip and turns back to the kitchen. He sees Dean’s bowl and reaches for it. “Let me just put this away and we’ll go.” 

Moving quickly, Dean snatches the bowl up before Castiel can get to it.“I don’t need you doing my dishes, Cas. I can take care of it.” 

There is no need to argue over a bowl. “Okay,” Castiel says. “I’ll get the shower ready. My bedroom is just down the hall, on the right.” 

Dean nods. They both hover awkwardly for a moment, watching each other. Then they remember themselves, right at the same time, and both of them abruptly jump into action. Dean busies himself at the sink. Castiel picks up Dean’s bag and takes it to his room. 

Putting Dean’s bag down on his bed feels presumptuous, but Castiel tries to stifle the feeling. Their history is intimate enough that the assumption Dean will be sleeping with him isn’t too forward. Dean is more than welcome to sleep in the spare room if he would prefer it. 

The shower in his ensuite is much bigger than the one in the main bathroom. Castiel spends a couple of minutes fetching a towel from the linen closet, then getting the water temperature just right, and by the time he has, he turns around to find Dean in the doorway. He’s standing tall, looking a little more himself, but still not quite the confident, bold man that Castiel has come to know. 

“Come here,” Castiel says. 

Dean does. He lets Castiel pull him free of his jacket, and holds his hands out of the way while Castiel tugs at his belt. He tugs his t-shirt off himself, dropping it on the floor behind him as Castiel unzips his pants and pushes them over his hips. His first protest comes when Castiel bends down to undo Dean’s shoelaces.

“Cas, you don’t have to—” 

Castiel shushes him, then taps on his ankle. Dean lifts his foot high enough that Castiel can pull off his shoe, then moves to the next one. 

Dean tries again. “I’m fine. You don’t — I don’t need kid gloves, okay?” 

“I know you don’t.” Castiel finishes with Dean’s other shoe. Again, Dean lifts his foot so that Castiel can pull it off and set it aside. He steadies himself on Dean’s hip when he stands, and keeps on holding him, offering support as Dean kicks his pants off. 

Undressing Castiel is easier. Dean makes it his focus. He tugs Castiel’s shirt off, over his head, then shoves at the waistband of Castiel’s sweatpants. When they pool at his ankles, Castiel carefully steps out of them. 

He gets under the water first, holding onto Dean’s wrist, leading him in. He lets the water run over his head and shoulders before he turns around to face Dean, tugging him in close, pulling him under as well. 

As the water glides over Dean’s body, Castiel finds himself drawn in like a magnet. Without thinking about it, he presses a kiss to Dean’s collarbone, then some more along the line of his neck, up to the spot where his jaw meets his ear. Dean lets him, tilting his head easily, making the path clear. When Castiel bites lightly at the lobe of his ear, he lets out a little noise. It isn’t a moan. It’s more like a sigh. 

Neither of them is hard. For Castiel, it isn’t that the desire is absent, only that it’s tucked away, off to the side, not pressing. The more important thing is to keep Dean close, to keep touching him, and offer him this small comfort. 

He finds Dean’s lips and presses a light kiss there. This one is chaste too, fleeting, and Castiel pulls back before it can turn into anything deeper. 

The soap that he has is nothing fancy, but it will have to do. When Castiel presses the bar to Dean’s sternum, Dean’s hand comes down over his, holding him still. 

“Cas, seriously. You don’t have to do this.” 

“I can stop if you want me to.” 

Colour rises high on Dean’s cheeks. He looks away again, looks all around the bathroom and the shower, anywhere but at Castiel. When he doesn’t say anything, Castiel takes a breath. Gently, he pushes at Dean’s grip, keeping a steady pressure until Dean relents and he is able to move his hand. He glides the bar of soap across Dean’s chest, then up and over his shoulder. Slowly, Dean’s grip on Castiel’s wrist loosens, then drops away. 

“For now, let’s just get clean,” Castiel says. “We’ll sleep. If you want to talk about it tomorrow, we can. If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine too.” He moves the soap down Dean’s arm, and back up again. Then down over Dean’s left side, the slight dip of his waist, the curve of his hip, the swell of his ass. He swaps the bar into his other hand, then follows the same path on Dean’s right. 

“You’ve got work tomorrow,” Dean says. 

“I do. But you can stay as long as you like.” 

A few hours ago, making that offer would have terrified him. Now, it seems like the only choice there is. 

“What am I gonna do in an empty apartment?” Dean asks. 

That, too, is easy. “Sleep,” Castiel says. “Rest. You deserve some time to rest.” 

Castiel hasn’t spoken with his father in almost thirteen years. Even with all that time between them, he doesn’t know what he would do if he were in Dean’s place. 

Dean scrubs a hand across his face. “You shouldn’t have to put up with this shit, man.” 

“It’s not shit,” Castiel says. He moves Dean, gently directing him to twist, just enough for Castiel to reach Dean’s back. “And I’m not putting up with anything. I need to sleep too. There’s nothing that says we can’t do that together.” 

When the water has rinsed the soap from Dean’s back, Castiel can’t help but lean forward and kiss him lightly there too. It earns him another of those small little sighs and a slight loosening of Dean’s muscles. 

“If you’re not comfortable with that,” he continues, “I have a spare room.” 

Dean lets out a little huff. “I’m not gonna sleep in the spare room, Cas.” 

He turns around, facing Castiel again. 

“I just want you to know you have the option,” Castiel says. 

Dean kisses him. He comes in slowly, smoothing his palm across Castiel’s nape and up into the short hairs at the back of his neck. When he ducks down to press their lips together, it places them both neatly back under the showerhead. Neither of them pays any mind to the water that streams down their faces. 

When Castiel does pull away, a while later, they don’t say anything more. Castiel cleans himself, far more quickly and with less care than he’d given Dean. Dean doesn’t stop touching him. He holds Castiel’s hips, crowds him in, and peppers kisses on Castiel’s neck and shoulders. He only lets go when Castiel shuts the water off, and they both have to dry themselves. 

Castiel doesn’t bother with any clothes once he’s dry, and Dean follows his lead. He wraps his towel around his waist and nods towards the bed. 

“I just need to make sure everything is locked up,” Castiel says. 

He does his normal checks, making sure the front door is deadlocked, the oven and stove are off, and the fridge is shut. When Castiel comes back to the bedroom, Dean is sitting on the corner of the bed, waiting for him. He’s pulled his boxers back on and has his towel bundled on his lap. There is a phone charger in his hand. 

“Didn’t know which side you wanted.” 

“Either is fine.” Considering Castiel has slept alone for almost three years, he doesn’t really have a proffered side. He points at the wall outlet just to the right side of the bed. “You can charge your phone there if you need.” He reaches a hand out for Dean’s towel, then gestures vaguely down at himself. “Is it alright if I—?” 

He’s not entirely sure how to ask. He generally sleeps in the nude when he’s at home. He does the same at hotels, especially when Dean is with him. He can never see the point in getting out of bed and searching for his clothes after they’ve fucked. It’s always easier to roll over and fall asleep, skin on skin. 

That feels more intimate in his home, though. He doesn’t want to make Dean uncomfortable. 

Dean pushes lightly at Castiel’s hip. It’s the first time all night that his smile has seemed easy. “You’re fine, Cas.” 

Castiel smiles back at him, then takes both towels back to the bathroom. Right before he switches the light off, he gets to see Dean, naked and clean, climbing into his bed. Desire plucks at him but quickly falls to the wayside again. 

It takes his eyes a moment to adapt to the dark, but he knows his own room well enough to navigate it without seeing. His knee bumps into the corner of his mattress, and he uses that as a reference to climb in himself. 

The sheets are clean — another by-product of the free hours Castiel had before Dean’s arrival — and cool. By contrast, Dean is warm when his arm brushes against Castiel’s. 

There is a moment, right after Castiel has settled when awkwardness takes hold. Normally, they’d be fucking. They’ve never shared a bed without having sex before. Maybe Dean is waiting for it, Castiel thinks. Maybe that’s why he’s come here, for a distraction. If that is the case, Castiel should roll over now, reach out for him and let Dean take what he needs. 

But if that isn’t the case, then there’s a chance that Dean might think Castiel expects sex. There’s a chance he could see it as an obligation of sorts, a thank you for letting Dean stay with him. That thought makes Castiel’s skin crawl.

A part of him wants to stay frozen, to leave the choice entirely up to Dean. But even then, he has no way of knowing what Dean is thinking — if he does consider sex some sort of payment for his stay here — and Castiel can’t risk it. 

He shifts, rolling over until he is facing Dean. He can’t see him in the dark, but he can feel his heat. He’s lying on his back. 

Carefully, Castiel moves. He brings his hand up, touches Dean’s shoulder first, then smoothing his hand along the line of Dean’s chest. 

“What can I do?” Castiel whispers into the darkness. 

Dean’s hand comes up, holding onto Castiel’s arm. He shifts, too, staying on his back, but shuffling closer to Castiel. He only stops when his side is pressed against Castiel. It’s entirely natural for Castiel to curve around him, hitching his leg up and over Dean’s, curling in until he is close enough to rest his head just beside Dean’s shoulder. 

Dean’s voice seems lower than it was only a few minutes ago. Castiel can hear his exhaustion. “I don’t know.” 

Castiel squeezes him. 

“Sorry,” Dean says, a little louder this time. “I’m sorry I showed up like this.” 

Seized by instinct, Castiel presses a kiss to Dean’s shoulder. Dean goes quiet. Into the silence, Castiel says, “I’m not.” 

And he’s not. Opening his home to Dean had felt like a herculean feat, only a few hours ago, but now, with Dean in his bed, in his arms, Castiel thinks that it’s incredibly simple. 

He’s happy that Dean is here. He’s happy to be here for Dean. 

“Is it—do you want to talk about it? Or would you like to sleep?” 

Dean doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t say anything for long enough that Castiel thinks that is his answer and is about to say, _it’s okay, we don’t need to talk, just sleep_ , when Dean breaks the silence with, 

“Funeral’s this weekend.” 

Castiel takes a deep breath. He waits to see if there is anymore. He’s not sure what he can say to that, but he does want to acknowledge the offering that Dean is making. “Okay.” 

“In Sioux Falls,” Dean says. “Never planned a funeral before. Turns out there’s a shitload to do. Who fucking knew?” 

Castiel pushes in a little closer. Again, he’s not sure of the right words, but he knows that he can offer comfort with his touch. “You have people to help?” 

Dean sighs. “Got Bobby. God knows he’s already done more than I coulda asked.” 

Dean has mentioned his friend Bobby a few times in the time that Castiel has known him. He doesn’t know much — only that Bobby is an old family friend, a port in a storm if Dean ever needed one. 

“And Sam?” Castiel asks. “He’ll be coming from California?” 

Of all his family, Dean has talked about Sam the most. Castiel knows that Sam was studying at Stanford, that he’s now a lawyer in San Francisco. He’s got a girlfriend, and although Castiel can’t remember her name he knows that she’s been around for some time. It seems an easy question to ask. 

He doesn’t get an easy answer. No, instead Dean goes quiet again, and oddly still in Castiel’s arms. 

Castiel backtracks, fast. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry.” 

“You’re not prying,” Dean says. He stops there, but the silence is weighted enough that Castiel knows better than to fill it. Dean rolls over, twisting until he’s facing Castiel, their legs tangling together. His arm squishes between them awkwardly until he slips it underneath Castiel’s pillow, taking the cushioned weight of Castiel’s head. “I, uh, I haven’t told you everything. About Sam.” 

He sounds apologetic, and it makes Castiel frown. Dean has no obligation to tell him everything about his brother. Castiel certainly hasn’t told Dean everything about his own siblings. 

He says, “Okay,” and waits again. 

“It’s just dumb family shit,” Dean says. 

Castiel settles a hand on Dean’s hip. “Dean, it’s okay. You don’t owe me anything.” 

He feels Dean nod, feels the way it makes his pillow shift. “Me and Sammy,” Dean starts, “we’re not really, uh, speaking.” 

And that — that’s a surprise. 

From the way Dean has always talked about Sam, Castiel never would have guessed that they were on bad terms. Dean always sounded so proud when he talked about his little brother. 

“Oh,” Castiel says. 

“Yeah.” 

Castiel thinks furiously about what he should ask next. “How—?” No, that doesn’t feel right at all. “Has this been going on for long?” 

Dean shifts under Castiel’s hands. “About nine years.” 

At a loss, Castiel says, “Oh,” again. 

“It’s fucked, I know.” 

Castiel shakes his head. “No,” he says. All families have their problems. He hadn’t expected it, but it doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t change what he thinks of Dean. “It’s not. It’s just—you talk about him a lot.” 

“I know,” Dean says. He shifts again, restless, and Castiel palms at his hip, hoping to settle him. When it works, Castiel keeps his hand moving, rubbing gently back and forth across Dean’s skin. “It’s—he didn’t drop off the face of the earth, you know? I still—I gotta know he’s doin’ okay. Even if he’s not talking to me.” 

Castiel doesn’t miss that the phrasing changes. ‘ _He’s not talking to me’_ is something different to ‘ _we’re not speaking.'_

He doesn’t push though. Dean will tell him if he wants to. 

Castiel focuses on the more immediate problem. “He knows about your father?”

Again, he feels the pillow shift as Dean nods. “Yeah, Bobby called him.” 

It’s difficult not to leap to his own conclusions, but Castiel tries his best. That their friend Bobby had to call, that Dean didn’t try even when it was regarding the death of their father — well, it isn’t a good sign. 

“Is he—?” Castiel has never been called a particularly tactful person, but he tries very hard now to ask the right questions. “Do you know if he’ll come to the funeral?”

“Told Bobby he would,” Dean says. “Shit, I don’t know. They didn’t—he and Dad, they weren’t good. Not together, at least.” 

Castiel thinks about Michael and Lucifer, and the years they’ve spent not speaking to one another, reconciling only to repeat the process over and over again. This year they’re in one of their good periods, but Castiel knows better than to trust it. They’ll fall out again someday soon, and demand that Castiel, Gabriel and Anna all pick their sides. 

“I’m sorry,” Castiel says. 

“Nothing for you to be sorry for.” Castiel startles a little when Dean’s hand touches his cheek. He settles into the touch quickly, lifting his chin to make room for Dean’s fingers. They trace along Castiel’s jaw, then push back, threading into his hair. Dean’s thumb presses up into the small space behind Castiel’s ear. “Ain’t your fault.” 

Castiel tilts his head further, pushing into Dean’s touch. “Well,” he says. He holds his hand still on Dean’s hipbone but lets his fingers keep moving, rubbing in small circles where Dean’s side curves into his back. “I’m still sorry you were in that position. It isn’t easy.” 

“Yeah,” Dean sighs. He shifts his weight on the pillow once more. “I don’t know. It’s—two days ago everything was fucking normal. And now Dad’s dead, Sam’s coming home, and I got no fucking clue what I’m doing.” 

“You’ll figure it out.”

“Dunno about that.” 

Castiel does. “You will.” 

Dean’s thumb pushes at that spot. It sends a shiver down Castiel’s spine. His voice is all gravel when he says, “You got a lot of faith in me for no good reason, Cas.” 

Castiel squeezes his hip. “It isn’t for no reason. You’re a good person, Dean.” 

He means it. He truly believes that with everything in him. Still, telling Dean so, out loud, feels a little bit like leaping from a cliffside. It’s bolder than Castiel has ever dared to be with Dean. 

Dean just lets out a little laugh. “You’d be the only person who thinks so.” 

They aren’t going to get anywhere tonight, Castiel realises. Not with Dean like this, as tired as he is. It isn’t a problem; Dean is entitled to feel however he likes tonight, especially considering the extra complications he now has to consider on top of his father’s death. But talking might not be the best thing, for right now. 

“We should sleep,” Castiel says. 

“Fuck.” Dean sounds instantly apologetic. “Yeah, I’m sorry—” 

But Castiel can’t hear him apologise again. He leans forward, swallows Dean’s apology with his mouth, catches Dean’s small hitched breath. Castiel isn’t always good with words, but he and Dean _are_ good at this. 

He means it to reassure, a quick kiss before they both roll over and fall asleep, but Dean surprises him. In an instant, the kiss turns from something light to something searching. 

Dean’s arm, the one underneath Castiel’s pillow, curls upwards. He hooks it around the crux of Castiel’s neck and tugs him closer, over. As Dean rolls onto his back, Castiel comes with him. For a moment, Castiel lets all of his weight rest on Dean. It feels nice to be held so close, especially when Dean lets out a little satisfied groan. It doesn’t give him the best leverage, though, so Castiel quickly brings a hand up to brace himself. 

He holds himself just above Dean. This would be easier if Castiel could see his face, but it’s too dark for that. He has to trust what Dean is saying with his hands and his lips. When he does, he realises that Dean is saying something desperate. The way that he grasps at Castiel is like a plea, and Castiel is helpless to refuse him. 

He noses down and finds all the skin that is now within his reach. He drags his lips from Dean’s, across his cheek, and bites lightly at Dean’s jaw. 

Another little noise puffs out of Dean at that, so he keeps biting, so lightly, making a trail down Dean’s neck. They have always been more careful leaving marks on Castiel — his work would never abide anything above the collar — but Dean has never minded a bruise or two. 

While Castiel continues downwards, mapping out a line across Dean’s collarbone and down to his sternum, Dean clutches at Castiel wherever he can reach him. One of his hands is buried in Castiel’s hair, tugging just a little, the perfect amount of pressure. The other scrapes across Castiel’s shoulder blade, then down his arm, over to his waist, up his back. 

Castiel finds one of Dean’s nipples and bites there too. That gets the loudest noise yet; this one _is_ a moan. Dean arches up a little, pressing himself up and into Castiel’s mouth. His hips lift too, pushing up, searching for pressure and finding it against Castiel’s hip. As Castiel devotes all of his attention to Dean’s nipple, Dean finds an easy rhythm, rocking up into Castiel. 

It doesn’t take long at all for them both to get hard. Castiel can’t keep his own sounds back, groaning against Dean’s skin, panting when Dean’s leg rubs up against his cock. 

Even as he drinks Dean in, Castiel can’t rid himself of his earlier concerns. He can’t have Dean do this with him out of any sense of obligation. Through the fuzziness in his head, Castiel pulls back, dropping his weight back down on Dean fully, holding him still. 

“Cas,” Dean breathes. “What are you—?” 

“Can I blow you?” Castiel asks. 

“ _Fuck,_ yes.” 

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to. We can just sleep.” 

It’s too dark to see Dean’s face, but he can certainly make an educated guess at the look Dean shoots him, especially when he says, “Are you fucking insane?” 

Castiel remains steadfast. “I don’t want you to think that you have some sort of _obligation_ because you are staying here—” 

Dean uses his grip on Castiel’s hair to pull him down, and kisses him silent. This time it’s rough, a hard press of lips. Castiel can sense the same desperation in Dean now that he’d felt when they’d been on the couch earlier. Dean pulls back barely an inch. “We’re good,” he says, and the words spill out onto Castiel’s lips. “I swear, we’re good. Please.” 

Castiel doesn’t waste any more time. He kisses down Dean’s body again, scraping his teeth across the nipple he’d ignored earlier, basking in Dean’s gasp, then continuing down. Dean lifts his hips to help Castiel pull his boxers down, then kicks them away. Castiel bites soft at Dean’s belly, then his hip bone, then the inside of his thigh. He uses one hand to cup Dean’s balls, rolling them lightly in his fingers, then takes Dean in his mouth. 

Dean’s hand twists divinely in his hair again. He plants one foot on the mattress, giving himself enough leverage to thrust lightly up and into Castiel’s mouth. They both know that Castiel can take it, that Castiel wants it. 

God, he wants it. 

Dean never goes too far. He rocks his hips a little but lets Castiel set the pace. He pushes back into Castiel’s touch when Castiel rubs his thumb across Dean’s taint. He lets out his little noises, fewer moans, more gasps now. 

The only time his hold on Castiel’s hair turns rough is when he gets close. He tugs on Castiel’s hair, a warning that Castiel ignores. When Dean comes, he does so in Castiel’s mouth, and Castiel swallows it all down. 

When Castiel pulls away, Dean’s leg falls out to the side, creating the perfect cradle for Castiel to settle into. He is breathing hard, his head lying back on the pillow, but he cranes up to kiss Castiel as soon as he’s in reach. 

When he reaches for Castiel’s cock, Castiel shakes his head. He’s hard, of course, but it’s Dean who’s important tonight. 

“Don’t worry about me,” he says. 

But Dean pulls at Castiel’s hips, arching up. “Nah, come on, I want to,” he says. He rolls his hips up again, getting the angle damn near perfect this time. Castiel’s dick presses into the soft space beneath Dean’s belly, just beside his softening cock. “Can you—?” He gasps, steals another kiss, then pulls Castiel against him again. “Like this?” 

It’s all Castiel can do not to laugh at the question. He follows as Dean has guided him, begins to rock his hips in earnest against Dean’s groin. When Dean sees that he’s got the picture, he moves his hands up to pull at Castiel’s neck, and his shoulders. He tugs Castiel down, seals their mouths together, and kisses him desperately. 

“Yeah, like that,” he whispers into the small space between them, in the few seconds when their mouths are parted. 

“Dean,” Castiel gasps, over and over again. “ _Dean._ ” 

It doesn’t take long, rutting as they are, for Castiel to come. He groans low and long into Dean’s mouth, spilling himself all over Dean’s belly and thighs. They keep rocking, smaller movements until he is spent completely. Their kisses slow, and the pull of Dean’s hands gentle, until he is stroking at Castiel’s neck, rather than pulling him closer. 

As soon as they go still, Castiel feels sleep pull at him. From the way that Dean’s muscles have gone loose, his touches turning softer and softer, Castiel can only hope the same for Dean. He forces himself to stay conscious just long enough to grab a cloth from the bathroom. Dean mumbles when Castiel pulls out of his grasp but isn’t so coherent that he finds actual words. Castiel wipes them both clean, and by the time he crawls back into bed, nestles up against Dean’s side, Dean is well and truly asleep.

It takes Castiel no time at all to join him. 

⬩

Castiel is warm when he wakes. It takes him a moment to realise that Dean is the cause. At some point in the night, Castiel had rolled to one side, and Dean had followed. His front is pressed along the line of Castiel’s back, one arm tucked neatly beneath Castiel’s pillow, the other draped loose over Castiel’s waist. His breath is slow and even, where it spills hot against the back of Castiel’s neck. 

It’s divine. There is no other word for it, and Castiel lets himself lie still for several minutes longer than he should, basking in it. He’s up earlier than his alarm, anyway. He has the time. 

Not enough of it, though. He keeps an eye on the clock on his bedside table. He waits until six-fifty-nine, then reaches for his phone and switches his alarm off before it can sound. Dean stirs when he moves, but he doesn’t wake. His grip around Castiel’s waist tightens for a moment, then loosens again, as he drifts back to sleep. 

He stays that way as Castiel slips out of his arms. He does it as gently as possible, carefully lifting Dean’s arm so that he can slide out of bed. Dean sniffs, and rubs his face into the pillow, but doesn’t open his eyes. 

Castiel creeps from the room. He prepares for work as quietly as possible. He uses the shower in the spare room and steals a new toothbrush from the packet he keeps underneath the sink. When he returns to his ensuite to find his own toothbrush, he sets the new one down to the side. Dean will likely have brought his own, but just in case. 

Dean is still asleep when Castiel finishes dressing. While Castiel has gotten ready, he has rolled onto his front and tucked his other arm up and under the pillow too. It makes the muscles in his back stretch out, although Castiel does his best not to look too long. It doesn’t feel quite right while he’s sleeping. 

When he’s finished putting on his shoes, Castiel approaches the bed again. He sits down carefully on the side and smoothes his hand across Dean’s shoulder. 

Dean doesn’t wake gently. He lifts his head with a gasp and looks wildly around for a moment before he seemingly remembers where he is. Only once his eyes have focused on Castiel does the new tension drain out of him. He lets his head drop heavily back onto the pillow. 

“Hey.” His voice is low. 

Castiel rubs his shoulder again. “Good morning.” 

Dean’s eyes are heavy with sleep when he looks Castiel over. He clearly takes in the suit, the tie, the trenchcoat. “You going?” 

“I am,” Castiel says. “I’ll be back around five. I’ve left my spare keys on the bench if you need to go anywhere. There’s a pass for the garage, too.” 

He isn’t being presumptuous, Castiel reminds himself. Dean came to him after all. And they’d spoken about Dean staying last night if only to get some rest. Castiel thinks he’s been clear that there is no requirement to stay if Dean doesn’t want to, and that there’s no obligation to leave either. If Dean needs to go, then he can. He can return the keys and pass to Castiel the next time they see each other. If he wants to stay, then he still has the freedom to go down to his car if he needs, or out into the city. 

It’s sensible. 

Castiel is ready to say all of this and more if Dean asks, but he doesn’t. He just smiles. 

“Thanks, Cas.” 

“There’s food in the fridge, and in the pantry.” There isn’t a huge variety by any means, but there’s enough to make a few different meals. Dean has always talked about his fondness for cooking. Castiel is sure he’ll be able to come up with something. “Help yourself to any of it.” 

Dean rubs his chin into the pillow again. “Yeah, okay.” 

That’s all the essential information delivered, then. Castiel should probably go. He can’t quite bring himself to pull his hand away though. Dean’s skin is warm and always seems somewhat softer in the mornings. 

“Are you—?” But wait, no. That isn’t the right question to ask. “How are you feeling this morning?” 

Dean rolls over, shuffling until he can lie comfortable back and look up at Castiel. It pulls his shoulder out of Castiel’s reach, but he doesn’t seem to mind when Castiel’s hand stops light on his chest, instead. 

“Had the best sleep I’ve had in a long time, I can tell ya that much,” Dean says. 

Castiel smiles. “I’m glad.” He rubs his thumb softly over the swell of Dean’s pectoral muscle. “And, everything we did last night, that was—” he’s been struggling with how to approach this, but there is enough anxiety thrumming through him to push onwards, “—okay?” 

Dean brings his hand up to Castiel’s wrist and holds on tight. Something passes across his face that Castiel can’t quite label. “Yeah,” he says, “of course.”

“I just—” Dean’s response suggests that he doesn’t need an explanation, but Castiel rushes to give him one anyway. “I want to be sure, that you don’t think—I don’t want you to think there is any requirement for you to—” 

Castiel has no idea how he’s going to finish that sentence, so he’s blessedly relieved when Dean interrupts him. He squeezes Castiel’s wrist. “I don’t,” he says. “I swear. We’re good, Cas.” 

His face is open, and his eyes are sincere. It should be reassuring, but Castiel cringes. With himself, of course. How absurd for Castiel to ask for Dean’s reassurance at a time like this? He just lost his father, for heaven’s sake. He shouldn’t have to worry about Castiel on top of that. 

Castiel’s cheeks go warm, and he tugs his hand away. “Okay,” he says, knowing he sounds unbalanced, uncertain. “I’ll, uh—” 

But even then, he can’t pull away altogether. This might be the last time he sees Dean for a while if Dean does decide he has better things to do than laze around Castiel’s apartment. If it is, Castiel would like to know it; to say goodbye properly. Even in their many hotel rooms, they have said better goodbyes than this. 

He just wants to know. 

“Will—?” 

Thank God, Dean has always had a talent for reading him. He pushes up onto his elbows, and makes sure that Castiel is looking at him when he says, “I’ll see you after work, Cas.” Then he grins, a little playfully. “Who knows, might even rustle up some dinner.” 

Castiel swallows. Not goodbye then. 

He feels some of his tension drain away. Dean gives nothing away, but Castiel is certain he notices too. 

Now that he has pulled away, it feels strange to reach for him again. Castiel keeps his hands in his lap when he says, “That would be lovely.” Then he thinks again of the risk that Dean might think he _owes_ Castiel something. “It isn’t necessary, though.” 

“I know.” The corners of Dean’s eyes crinkle as he smiles. He pushes himself all the way up now, sitting forward and reaching out to touch at the inside of Castiel’s elbow. Castiel has his work clothes on, putting far too many layers between them, but the warmth of Dean’s touch still seeps through. He smiles when Dean pushes lightly at his shoulder. “Go on, get out of here.” 

Castiel stands, a little of his early awkwardness still clinging to him. It occurs to him too late that he should have leant forward and kissed Dean while they were so close. The moment has passed now — Dean is dropping back to the sheets, pulling the duvet cover up and over his shoulder, and nestling back into a comfortable position. There’s no need for Castiel to disturb him anymore. 

“Send me a message if you need anything,” he says from the bedroom door. 

Dean eyes him over his blanketed shoulder. “Will do. Have a good day.” 

It’s far too dangerous to give a name to the warmth that stirs in Castiel’s belly. He doesn’t dare. He leaves Dean with a final smile, pulling the bedroom door shut behind him as he goes, and forces himself not to think about it his entire commute to work. 

⬩

Work is difficult _._ Castiel is distracted long before he makes it to the office, and once he’s there, it only gets worse. As he makes himself a coffee in the office kitchen, when he takes it back to his office and attempts to look over his emails, his thoughts are with Dean. Castiel wonders if he has left bed yet, or if he’s taking advantage of his solitude to sleep. He thinks that Dean may have woken up and tried to make himself breakfast, which of course leads him only to worry that he hasn’t left Dean with enough food. He considers sending Dean a message but quickly realises that he doesn’t know what he’d say. 

He’d rambled enough this morning. The best thing now must be to give Dean his space. 

He leaves his phone alone and does his best to focus on his work. His day is oddly free of meetings, which turns out to be both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because at least he doesn’t have to worry about any of their staff noticing his odd behaviour, or commenting on it, but a curse because the hours drag far longer than they would have if he were busy. 

By the time lunchtime rolls around, Castiel is antsy. His knee is jumping up and down, betraying his need to do _something_. When Hannah knocks at his office door, he leaps to his feet. 

She smiles at him. “Are you ready to go?” 

Castiel nods quickly. “I am.” 

He gathers his things quickly. He momentarily considers leaving his phone here, so that he can devote all of his attention to Hannah, but ultimately decides against it. He’d told Dean to text if he needed anything. He hasn’t texted yet, but that doesn’t mean he won’t. 

Hannah’s company is like a breath of fresh air. She falls easily into step with them as they head for the elevator. He asks, 

“How has your week been?” 

and relaxes when she tells him. She has a calming way about her, Castiel has always thought. Michael has always thought her stern, and cold, but Castiel thinks that’s more Michael’s problem than it is Hannah’s. They both have an inflexible quality, and neither of them has ever been willing to bend for the other. 

They go to an old favourite for lunch, a hole in the wall Italian restaurant that’s been run by the same family for close to fifty years. Castiel knows what he’ll order before they sit down — a spinach and feta focaccia — and the familiar smile he gets from the waitress when she passes over the menu suggests she knows it too. 

Hannah tells him about a project that she’s been working on, and some difficulties she’s had with a new starter on her floor. Castiel offers what advice he can — ‘ _be patient with them, they’re inexperience only means that they’re willing to learn,’_ — but mostly he listens, nodding along and humming his agreement where necessary. 

The conversation lulls when their food arrives. Castiel had skipped breakfast, not wanting to wake Dean with noise from the kitchen, and he’s surprised by how hungry he suddenly feels. They fall into a comfortable silence as they start to eat.

It leaves him room to start thinking about Dean again. He has always kept his relationship with Dean private; a secret that he’d never quite known how to approach in his real life. The situation feels a little different now, considering Dean is in his apartment, but Castiel still has no idea how to talk about it. But Hannah is one of his oldest friends, trustworthy, and sensible to a fault. Surely, if he can talk to anyone about Dean, it’s her. 

Of course, while he considers this, caught up in his own thoughts, he forgets how well Hannah has learnt to read him over the years. She’s always been quicker to action, too, so she is the first to set her food aside and speak. 

“Your thoughts are somewhere else today.” 

It isn’t a question and there’s no point in pretending otherwise, so Castiel doesn’t. He swallows his bite and sets his focaccia down. “May I ask for your advice?” 

“Of course.” 

Castiel needs to clarify. “It’s a personal matter.” 

That doesn’t dissuade her. She just nods. “Okay.” 

No room left for stalling then. Castiel takes a deep breath, running through it all in his head quickly to make sure that he approaches it right. He leans forward in his chair and braces his elbows on the table. 

“I have a friend.” Friend is really the only word to use. “He arrived in town yesterday, unexpectedly.” 

Hannah nods again, patient as ever. 

“I have—” Has he let Dean stay? Or has he asked him to stay? “He’s staying with me.” Yes, that works better. “I’m not sure how long he’ll be here, but the invitation is.” Again, he stumbles. What is the invitation? Dean can stay for as long as he likes, as far as Castiel is concerned, but is that too much to say? What does it mean that Castiel is so happy to share his apartment with him? “Well, I have the space.” 

Hannah doesn’t seem to mind Castiel’s haphazard explanation. “That’s very kind of you.” 

“Well, it’s—” It’s the least Castiel can offer. It doesn’t feel right to accept praise for simply giving Dean a place to rest. “His father passed away. Recently. I’m not sure of the exact day, I haven’t asked for those details, but he—I’m not sure how to—”

He’s not sure of anything, honestly. Somehow, Hannah finds the right word before he can. 

“How to help?” She offers. 

Castiel lets out a sigh. “Yes. Exactly.” 

Hannah tilts her head, just a touch to the left. “Has he asked you to?” 

“No, no,” Castiel says. “He wouldn’t—” In the entire time he’s known Dean, he’s not sure that he’s ever heard Dean ask for help. Not with words, at least. But there’s something to the way that he’d relaxed in Castiel’s hands last night. All of that tension that he’d carried into Castiel’s apartment had seemed to leak from him in the shower and in bed. If there is anything else that Castiel can do to ease that stress in him, he’ll do it. “I’d like to anyway.” 

“I see.” Hannah takes a moment to think that all over. She takes a thoughtful bite of her sandwich. When she’s finished chewing, she asks, “Do you have anything specific in mind?” 

“I’m not sure,” Castiel says. It’s a thought that’s niggled at him all day. So far, the only thing that he’s been able to offer Dean is his touch. Sex is easy for them, after all. But even he knows that isn’t the healthiest of coping mechanisms. Surely Castiel can help him in some other way. “He’s planning the funeral.”

“On his own?” 

“He has a family friend to help him,” Castiel says. “And his brother, but.” It doesn’t feel quite right to share Dean’s personal issues with Hannah, but it’s important for Hannah to know. He tries to keep it vague. “Their relationship is difficult.” 

“Difficult?” 

“I don’t know the details, but they don’t speak.” 

Hannah hums, taking that in too. “Well, that’s certainly something you could help him with.” 

Castiel frowns. “I’m not sure how.” 

He has his experience with Michael and Lucifer to build off, of course, but his only tactic with them has been to wait them out. Dean has apparently already waited nine years, and Castiel can’t imagine that the added stress of their father’s passing will do anything to alleviate tensions. 

Hannah shifts in her seat a little, twisting so that she can lean in and rest one arm on the table. “You can’t fix it for him, of course, but you can make sure you’re there for him. Some people just need to know they have someone in their corner.” 

Something flips in Castiel’s stomach. The idea of being in Dean’s corner, being able to offer Dean his support like that, is a very attractive one indeed. But the _‘how’_ is still missing and Castiel has no idea how to fill in the blank. 

“Has he spoken to you about any of the specifics for the funeral?” Hannah asks. 

“No.” Castiel shakes his head. “I haven’t asked him.” 

Hannah sighs. She gives him the same look Anna gives him when he tells her he’s worked over his birthday. It’s fond but exasperated. “Okay. Well, do you know what he’s doing today?” 

“What do you mean?” 

The look grows sterner. “While you’re at work?” she says, leadingly. “What’s he doing?” 

Castiel gets the distinct impression that his answer is not going to be the one she’s looking for. Still, there’s no point in lying. “He’s, uh, sleeping, as far as I know. I don’t think he knows anyone else in the city.” 

Sure enough, Hannah frowns. “Oh,” she says. “Where is the funeral then?” 

“South Dakota,” Castiel says. He knows the natural next question and braces himself for it. Sure enough, 

“Why is he in New York?” Hannah asks. 

The difficult thing is that Castiel doesn’t quite know the answer to that himself. All he knows is what Dean has told him which is, well—

“He said that he wanted to see me.” 

Hannah’s eyebrows go up. “He’s here for you?” 

Her face makes it very clear that she’s now reading into Castiel’s initial use of the word ‘friend.’ Castiel feels his cheeks heat and ducks his head, avoiding her narrow-eyed gaze. “Uh, yes. At least, that’s what he told me. He was in Detroit when he heard the news.” 

When he glances back up, he can tell he’s been caught. “That’s quite a friendship, Castiel.” 

Castiel clears his throat. “Yes, well.” He shifts on his seat. “Friendship is the most appropriate term.” 

He takes another bite of his food, grateful for the excuse to stop talking. Hannah watches him as he does, a little twist at the corner of her mouth that suggests she’s more amused than anything. Going by the heat of his face, Castiel can only assume he’s turned an impressive shade of pink. At least he knows that Hannah isn’t laughing _at_ him. In fact, something a little like pride shines in her eyes. 

“He’s still at your apartment, then?” 

Castiel has to clear his throat again when he’s finished with his mouthful. “I believe so. Unless something urgent has called him away. He said he’ll be there when I get home tonight. I’m not sure when he plans on leaving.” 

Hannah takes a deep breath. “Castiel, may I be frank?” 

Despite the way his heart thunders, Castiel nods. “Always.” 

“From what you’ve told me, it seems your friend heard of his father’s passing, then drove nine hours in the wrong direction, all so that he could see you.” She shoots him a very meaningful look but doesn’t pause. “I think that even if he hasn’t explicitly asked for your help, he’s certainly done as much with his actions.” 

It makes a lot of sense, said aloud like that, but Castiel still hesitates. His relationship with Dean has always been so set in their normal routine, it feels presumptuous to assume Dean has come for anything other than physical comfort. 

“You think so?” 

Of course, Hannah doesn’t quite have the full story, but there is something comforting about how confidently she nods. She has always had better social skills than Castiel. “I do.” 

“What should I do then?” 

Hannah sits back in her chair. “I think you should speak to your friend about that,” she says. “But I can tell you; he certainly didn’t come here to see your empty apartment.” 

Castiel flushes again. “You think I should go home?” 

“Is there anything that needs your attention at the office, more than he does?” 

Put like that, it is impossibly simple.

“No.”

Hannah shrugs. “Then you have your answer.” She smiles at him, apparently satisfied with whatever she can see on Castiel’s face, and reaches for her lunch again. 

Warmth swells in Castiel’s chest, gently reminding him how lucky he is to have a cousin like her. In about five minutes, she’s drawn the easy conclusion that Castiel has somehow missed all morning. He’d have probably worried over it endlessly if it weren’t for her. 

They move on to lighter topics as they finish eating. He asks if she has anything exciting coming up, she tells him about a dinner she and some old university friends have organised for the weekend. Castiel covers the bill and Hannah promises she’ll get the next one. She gives him a knowing look when they walk back to the office slightly faster than they might have on another day. 

When they get back to the office, before they squeeze into one of the elevators, Castiel touches her elbow and they both pause. 

“Thank you, Hannah,” he says, hoping she can see how much he means it. 

Her smile turns soft. “You’re welcome,” she says. “I hope it goes well. Please pass my condolences on.” 

Castiel nods. “I will.” 

She shoots him another encouraging smile when the elevator reaches her floor. Once she’s gone, Castiel allows himself to turn a little more urgent. He rushes back to his office, headed straight for his computer. He does have a few meetings booked for the afternoon, but Inias can take care of those. Castiel quickly sends him through his notes, and the meeting requests. He sends a quick request to HR for the afternoon off — it will be approved, he has no doubt — then shuts everything down. 

He packs his laptop up. As much as he’d like to leave it in the office, he knows better. If he does need to take any more time off, he’ll need to have it on hand for emergencies. But only for emergencies. 

He’s pulling his coat on when Michael appears at his door. 

He frowns when he sees Castiel. “I thought you just had lunch?” 

“Yes, I did,” Castiel says. “I’m taking the afternoon off.” 

He doesn’t leave any room for debate, although he knows Michael will give it his best shot. He swings his bag over his shoulder and heads for the door as if Michael isn’t standing right in his way. 

“What?” Michael says. He’s more bewildered than angry. When Castiel gets close, he backs up, out of the way, still frowning. “Why? We’ve got—” 

“Something urgent has come up.” 

Michael doesn’t need anything more than that. Castiel slips past him and doesn’t stop, heading straight back for the elevators. Now that he’s made the decision to head back to Dean, it feels ridiculous that he came in at all. It’s just past one o’clock now. He wants to get back as soon as possible. 

“Wait, Castiel, what’s—?” 

Castiel waves a hand over his shoulder. The elevator dings, and the doors open. When he gets inside, he turns to see Michael still near his office door, gaping. 

“I’ll call you,” he says, then the doors shut, and that’s that. 

⬩

He feels oddly nervous returning to his apartment. His phone is ringing, Michael calling again, but Castiel ignores it. He’d glanced at his emails on the way home to see that his leave request for the afternoon had been approved almost as soon as he submitted it, so Michael doesn’t have any grounds to complain about Castiel’s absence. 

Of course, he’s entitled to his curiosities, but they will have to wait. Castiel barely knows what he’s doing. There’s no way he can explain it to Michael of all people. 

The surety he’d felt when he’d left the office is almost completely gone by the time he reaches his apartment complex. Hannah is right; Dean may have come to him for companionship, but it’s just as likely that Dean came to him because he knew Castiel would leave him alone. He knew Castiel would be preoccupied with work and maybe that’s exactly what he wanted; space, to be alone with his thoughts. 

He could turn around, Castiel supposes. Michael would have his questions, but Castiel can bear them if he has to. As soon as the thought comes to him, his doubts change tack again, suddenly insisting that Castiel shouldn’t leave Dean alone at a time like this. 

It’s all very confusing. Without a sure path in either direction, Castiel falls back on Hannah’s advice. Her perspective, looking outside in, is the only thing he can rely on. 

He’s halfway through the door when he hears Dean call out. “Cas?” 

Moments later, his head appears at the end of the front hall. His face is worried, just for a moment, before he confirms that it is Castiel and relaxes. 

“Hello Dean.” Castiel puts his keys down on the hall table. 

Dean steps fully into the hall. He’s got his jeans on and a different t-shirt to the one he was wearing yesterday. He’s also barefoot. 

“You finish early?” 

Castiel shrugs his coat off and hangs it on the coat rack beside the door. There’s no need to disclose the way he’s raced home. He can easily guess Dean’s reaction if he discovers Castiel has returned early just to be here with him. 

“There was nothing essential left for me to do today.” 

“Oh, okay.” Dean shifts his weight awkwardly as Castiel gets closer like he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. “Cool.”

All of the certainty Castiel had felt after speaking with Hannah seems to vanish in an instant. He hesitates. “Did you want to be alone?” Of course, he does, he doesn’t need to worry about entertaining Castiel. He should be taking this time to rest. “I can go back to the office if you like.” 

“No.” Dean shakes his head straight away, waving his hand through the air as if batting away Castiel’s concerns. “No way, come on.” 

Castiel wants to be sure. “If you’re not comfortable…” 

Dean takes a big step forward. “Cas, shut up. I’m not gonna kick you out of your own place.” He reaches out and quickly squeezes Castiel’s bicep. “And hey, I’m comfortable, okay? Honestly, this is the comfiest I’ve been in ages.” 

He holds his arms out as if to prove his point and rocks on his heels. Castiel looks down to see him digging his toes into Castiel’s pile carpet. It’s — it’s bizarrely sweet, and Castiel’s chest warms at the sight. 

“That’s good,” he says. “I’m glad.” 

Dean steps backwards, making room for Castiel to come further into the apartment. Looking over his shoulder, Castiel can see that the television is on. Dean’s phone is on the small coffee table, and the pillows on the L-bend of the couch look perfectly positioned for someone to stretch out on the couch. It’s ridiculous, but a part of Castiel feels absurdly proud to see it. As if it’s somehow an achievement of his, that Dean has been able to find some comfort in his space. 

“Was work good?” Dean asks. He leans against the kitchen island and watches as Castiel moves around him, setting his laptop down on the bench. 

“It was mostly the same,” Castiel says. “I had lunch with my cousin.” 

“Cool. They work with you?” 

“She works two floors below me.” Castiel doesn’t really know what to do with himself. Just to keep his hands occupied, he takes a glass from the cupboard and fills it with water from the pitcher in the fridge. “She’s in our finance team.” 

Dean nods along as Castiel talks. “That’s cool.” 

“It’s definitely convenient,” Castiel says. He knows he and Hannah would stay in touch even if they didn’t work together, but he would certainly see her less frequently. It’s nice to have to close by. 

“So it’s a real family business, huh?” Dean asks. “You got anyone else hidden away at that company of yours?” 

Castiel comes around the island again, mirroring Dean and leaning his hip against the marble. 

“It’s Michael’s company more than mine,” he says because it feels important to say. Dean knows a little bit about Castiel’s work — that they have multiple offices, that Castiel is often needed in face to face client meetings, that Castiel works with his brother — but they don’t generally talk about it. The idea that Dean could think Castiel runs the company doesn’t sit quite right with him. He watches Dean’s face, searching for any reaction he might have, but finds nothing. “My sister works for our marketing department. She’s based in Portland, though.” 

“Anna, right?”

Castiel startles. He’s — he hadn’t expected Dean to remember that. “Yes.” 

Dean clearly sees the surprise on Castiel’s face. The lightest dusting of pink tinges his cheeks. “Yeah, you’ve mentioned her a few times.” 

“She and I were close growing up.” Castiel intends on saying something else, mentioning how he hasn’t called Anna in far too long, how he always leaves too long between visits, but he’s distracted by the empty bowl he spots in the sink. “You had something for lunch?” 

“Yeah, had some more of that pasta, hope that’s okay.”

Castiel nods. There’s that lovely warm feeling again. He’s pleased that Dean’s been able to find something to eat amongst what Castiel had to offer. “Definitely. Is there any left?” When Dean shakes his head, Castiel quickly speaks over any apology he might offer. “That’s okay. We can order something tonight if you’d like?” 

Abruptly, he remembers that he doesn’t know if Dean is staying or not. Dean had said he’d be here when Castiel got home, but they hadn’t confirmed anything beyond that. Dean might want to start the drive tonight, now that he’s had the day to rest. 

But Dean just shrugs, easy. “Whatever you want, Cas. I don’t want to put you out.” 

“You’re not putting me out,” Castiel says. 

They’ve apparently had this conversation enough times that Dean decides not to argue. “Okay, well, I don’t want to mess with your routine then, or whatever. Let’s just do whatever you’d normally do.” 

“What I’d normally do?” 

“Yeah. When you get home from work, what do you do?” 

Suddenly, everything that Castiel does after work feels incredibly boring. Gabriel would be able to talk about dates with Kali, or drinks with his workmates. Michael could probably even boast about a social drink or two with some of his wall street friends. For Castiel, his normal routine is to work until after dark, then come home and go to sleep. His most exciting evenings were the ones he spent out of town when Dean just happened to be nearby. 

He can’t say that, though. 

“I have dinner,” he says instead. “Sometimes I read or watch the TV.”

He looks away from Dean as he says it. He’s not sure he wants to see how Dean will react to his particularly uneventful lifestyle. 

Dean doesn’t hesitate. He claps his hands together. “Let’s do that then.” He pushes away from the island and heads for the couch. “You get changed and I’ll find something for us to watch.” 

“Okay.” Hesitantly, Castiel nods. Dean’s been watching TV all day, what if he’s bored of it? “Are you sure—?” 

Again, Dean waves his hand at him. “I’m sure, Cas. Go on, suit like that can’t be comfy.”

With that encouragement, Castiel does as he’s told. In his room, he can see evidence of Dean’s presence there. He’s clearly tried to make the bed, but it’s a little haphazard, the blankets wrinkled and the pillows askew. His bag is open on the end of the bed, his jacket strewn just beside it. A bottle of deodorant has fallen on the floor. Castiel picks it up and puts it carefully on top of Dean’s things. 

He changes, swapping his suit for a pair of sweatpants and a grey t-shirt. When he returns to the living room, Dean’s on the couch, flicking through the television channels. He glances over at Castiel when he approaches and smiles. 

“That’s better.” 

Castiel frowns and looks down at himself. “It is?” 

“Yeah,” Dean says. He shrugs, then looks away, dodging Castiel’s gaze. “You look—I don’t know, more relaxed or something.” A hint of his blush returns. He thumps the empty space beside him on the couch. “Come on, sit down.” 

Castiel can’t help but smile as he does. He settles into the seat next to Dean. “What are we watching?” 

Dean slumps back into the couch, resting his head on the back cushion. “There’s shit all on.” He gestures at the TV. “This is pretty funny though, you seen it?” 

Castiel watches for a moment. It appears to be a brightly lit obstacle course, in front of a grandstand audience. There are two exuberant presenters narrating the action, neither of whom Castiel recognises. 

“No.” 

That doesn’t put Dean off. In fact, he sounds excited when he explains, “It’s like this adventure course, right? They let all these rookie athletes have a go, see if they can get through it. Fastest one wins.” 

On the screen, a tall and muscled man in a pair of very tight shorts leaps into the air. He grabs what looks like a wheel, ranging from the roof of the course, and swings from it, immediately catching another. When he leaps for the third, he fumbles and crashes down into the pool below. It makes Dean laugh. 

“You like it?” Castiel twists in his seat so that he can see Dean’s face. 

Dean shrugs. “It’s kinda dumb, but yeah. It’s fun. Better than all the other crap that’s on, anyway.” 

Castiel certainly can’t argue with that. He shifts, getting comfortable on the couch beside Dean, only to realise his glass of water is still up on the kitchen bench. He gets up quickly to fetch it. 

“Are you sure you don’t want a drink?” Castiel asks while he’s up. He peers inside the fridge. There are three of Anna’s beers left. “A beer?” 

“Nah, 'm good.” 

When Castiel returns, Dean has well and truly made himself comfortable. His head is cradled by the soft couch cushion, and he’s stretched out on the L of the couch, his feet propped up on the end. He smiles as Castiel sits back down, and that’s enough. 

Castiel sets his drink on the coffee table. When his hands are free he twists around and settles one on Dean’s chest. 

Dean’s gaze flickers up to meet his. 

“You had a good day?” Castiel asks quietly. 

Dean breathes evenly for a moment, his chest rising and falling underneath Castiel’s hand. His smile is gentle. “Yeah, Cas.” 

“You got some rest?”

Dean brings his hands up, covering Castiel’s. “Yeah,” he says again. 

For a moment, they’re both still, just looking at each other. Then Dean’s tongue darts out, wetting his lips, and Castiel is helpless to resist. Slowly, telegraphing the move, Castiel leans down and kisses him. He licks his way into Dean’s mouth, sighing as Dean pushes up and presses into him. 

Dean’s hand squeezes his, holding it tight. It’s the only spot that Castiel is touching him, aside from where their mouths meet, but even there Castiel can feel it as some of his tension washes away. Dean seems to exhale, relaxing into the space next to Castiel, and when they part, the awkwardness is gone. 

This time, when Castiel shifts to settle in at his side, it feels easy; natural. 

They watch the obstacle course show until it’s finished, then Dean swaps it over to some medical drama. This he seems more interested in, and he catches Castiel up on some important plot points for context. 

“That’s Amelia,” he explains, toying with Castiel’s fingers, where they’re still splayed on Dean’s chest. Castiel isn’t sure he knows he’s doing it. His touch is casual, his attention still on the woman on the TV screen. “She and Dr. Sexy dated in season one, but she had a secret husband the whole time.” 

“I see,” Castiel says, which makes Dean snort. 

They watch two episodes of that before the network swaps to a different drama — some sort of modern western procedural that Dean is far less interested in. The entire time, Dean plays with Castiel’s hand. He drags his fingertip over the ridge of Castiel’s fingers, brushing his knuckles, mapping his palm, scratching softly at his wrist. It becomes more purposeful when the television show switches over, and by the time they reach the first ad break, the air between them is charged. 

Castiel ignores it to start, letting Dean lead them. There is a familiar tightening in Castiel’s belly, heated anticipation that he’s used to feeling in Dean’s company, but it isn’t urgent. He can recognise the desire brewing in Dean’s eyes and knows he won’t be waiting much longer. 

Sure enough, just as the ad break finishes, Dean twists a little in his seat. There’s something obscene to the way he’s stretched out on the couch, his head lazing back, his eyes wanting. 

“Wanna fool around?” 

He certainly doesn’t have to ask twice. Castiel crawls into his lap — and Dean was right, the sweatpants are much better than his work pants would have been — cups Dean’s chin and pulls him into a kiss. He presses his weight down on Dean, his knee digging into the arm of the couch as he widens his legs, letting Dean push in as close as he can. Dean takes a firm grip of Castiel’s hips, holding him there as he drives upwards, grinding them together roughly. He groans roughly into Castiel’s mouth and it sends a shiver down Castiel’s spine. 

Too quickly, they are pawing at each other’s clothing. Castiel tugs at the collar of Dean’s tee, pulling it out of the way so that he can bite and kiss and lick Dean’s collarbone. Dean shoves his hands unceremoniously down the back of Castiel’s pants and palms at Castiel’s ass, his fingers wandering while their hips rock. Their kisses turn more frantic. 

In the end, they only part so that Castiel can shove his pants out of their way. He tugs Dean’s jeans out of the way just enough to free his cock, then he is back in Dean’s lap, bare legs spread, pressing them together. Dean’s hands map his thighs, guiding Castiel as he moves. They don’t kiss. To get the best leverage, Castiel sits tall on Dean’s lap, bracing himself on the back and arm of the couch. It leaves Dean’s mouth free to talk and talk he does. 

“S’fucking good, Cas, so fucking good.” He rocks up into Castiel’s movements, his t-shirt pushed up just high enough that Castiel can see the gorgeous movement of his abdominal muscles. “Keep going, fuck, keep going.” 

Castiel has absolutely no intention of stopping. He gasps Dean’s name, adjusting his grip so he can hold onto Dean’s shoulder, rather than the sofa. It doesn’t take long for his movements to turn desperate. The pressure between them is divine, but not quite enough, and Dean must feel the same because he reaches down to take them both in hand. 

He jerks them roughly, his eyes roaming across Castiel’s face. His gaze feels heavy, pointed, and Castiel basks in it. There’s nothing quite like having Dean’s full attention, especially while he’s moaning, rocking them both together. 

Castiel comes first, his head dropping back, his eyes fluttering shut as it takes him. Dean groans, the sound low and lovely, still jacking his cock. As soon as his mind is his own again, Castiel reaches for Dean’s nipple and twists it. He leans in close so that he can mouth at Dean’s jaw while he bats Dean’s hand away, taking over its duty. It takes no time at all for Dean to follow him swiftly over the edge. 

Castiel takes in the full picture. Dean’s muscles jump as he gives in to his orgasm, his head tipping back, showing the long line of his throat. His come mixes with Castiel’s, all over his stomach and dick. He looks obscene. Castiel drinks him in. 

When Dean’s breathing slows back to normal, Castiel lets his weight drop down fully, panting into Dean’s shoulder. It ruins his shirt, but he doesn’t care. He can get another. Dean opens for him, soothing his hands across Castiel’s back as they both just breathe. The television is making vague noises behind them, but aside from that, it’s quiet. It stays quiet for a long while. 

“Fuck,” Dean breathes eventually. He scrapes his fingers through Castiel’s hair. “I needed that.” 

A warm feeling brews in Castiel’s chest. He hums in response, feeling happy and heavy and content in Dean’s lap. He forgets the rest of his apartment, the rest of the world. It all feels contained in the scant space between them, wrapped up tightly in Dean’s arms. 

He does know, distantly, that these kinds of thoughts are dangerous. Soon, they will both remember that this isn’t something that they do. That the real world still exists. There’s no point in pretending otherwise. 

Eventually, Castiel presses a kiss to Dean’s shoulder and asks, “Have you made any plans?” 

Dean doesn’t respond straight away. His fingertips scratch at the nape of Castiel’s neck. 

“Yeah,” he eventually says with a sigh. “I’m going to take off tomorrow. You’ve put up with me long enough.” 

Castiel tries not to tense but doesn’t quite manage it. Dean’s hand goes still, and he knows it’s noticed. He pulls back just far enough to make sure Dean’s looking at him. “Having you here isn’t a problem, Dean.” 

Dean glances away. “Yeah, I know,” he says, “but — I don’t know, it’s your space or something.” He looks back to give Castiel a gentle smile. His hand starts to move again. “I need to get to Sioux Falls anyway.” 

Castiel doesn’t argue. There’s no sense in it. Dean has already said that there’s a lot he needs to do. The sooner he gets to Sioux Falls, the better. He’ll be sorry to see Dean go, but it isn’t as if they haven’t done this before. He has Dean in his arms now, at least. 

He lets his head drop back down, resting on Dean’s shoulder. “Okay.” 

“I really appreciate you letting me stay, Cas.” Dean’s hands coast up, one of them pressing into the hair at the back of Castiel’s neck. “Means a lot.” 

Pressing back into the touch, Castiel hums. “Of course.” 

“Seriously,” Dean says. “You didn’t have to let me crash.” 

Castiel gives a little shrug. “I wanted to. If you need to come back, anytime, you can.” 

He’s surprised to find how much he means it. This time the day prior, the same offer would have terrified him. There is a part of him that worries he’s crossed another of their lines, that Dean might not welcome the invitation, but it doesn’t cow him. If Dean says no, then at least Castiel knows where the line is. 

He isn’t bothered when Dean sighs. “I’ll probably have to stay there for a while,” he says. “Got a lot of shit to sort out, you know?” 

“I do.” 

Dean scrubs his free hand over his face. “And the Sam shit, it’s—I don’t know. It’s probably time it all came to a head anyway. I’ll figure it out. I always do.” 

Castiel pushes in a little closer, nuzzling in at Dean’s neck. He might be taking liberties, but it isn’t as if they’ve never cuddled before. 

“You don’t have to do it all by yourself, Dean.” 

A part of him aches, hearing how tired Dean sounds, just talking about what he’ll need to confront in Sioux Falls. It takes him straight back to his conversation with Hannah. He just wants to _help._

Dean snorts. “Cas, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not exactly spoilt for choice here. It’s me or nothing at this point.” 

It’s a joke, obviously, but Castiel doesn’t like it. He pulls back, sitting up. “You have me.” 

Dean blinks. “What?”

Castiel takes a deep breath. “I know ours isn’t the most conventional—” There’s no good word for what they are. No matter which one he picks, he can only hope it doesn’t spook Dean further. “— _relationship_ , but I think of us as friends at the very least.” Castiel belatedly remembers that he’s sitting bare-assed and bare-legged on Dean’s lap in the middle of his living room. He tries not to let it shake him, but he can feel himself blushing. “If you need someone in your corner, well. You have me.” 

He tries not to feel too vulnerable, sitting on Dean like this, saying things like this. It’s hard, and Dean can probably tell, but Castiel keeps his chin high. 

Dean tucks one of his hands under Castiel’s t-shirt. “Yeah?” 

“Of course.” 

Dean dodges his gaze again, shifting a little underneath Castiel. He doesn’t let go though, keeps his hand steady. It’s confusing. “That’s, uh,” he clears his throat. “That’s real good to know, Cas.” 

It’s not quite the answer Castiel was hoping for, but he can tell that Dean means it. He ducks back down and kisses Dean once more, a long, lingering kiss, before he slips out of Dean’s lap. He feels steadier once he has his pants back on, but he doesn’t go far from Dean. Dean doesn’t let him. He tucks himself back into his jeans then holds one of his arms out, making space for Castiel to settle in at his side. 

“I think we’re friends too, you know.” Dean says it quietly, not quite meeting his eye. “I know we’ve got—you know—” He gestures vaguely between them, to the damp patches on both of their shirts. “—all the other shit, but. Yeah. We’re friends.” 

It’s — well. 

Logically, Castiel already knew they were friends. Of course, they are. Castiel sees Dean more often than he sees some of his family, and every time he does, it’s easy and effortless. They have sex, yes, but they also have breakfast together and watch television together and enjoy each other’s company. 

There’s something about hearing Dean say it, though, that makes Castiel’s pulse thrum. It makes him feel brave, too; a simple reassurance that Castiel exists as more to Dean than just an easy fuck. 

He knew. _Hannah knew._ Dean came to him. His father died, and Dean drove to New York, and let Castiel wash him in the shower, and hold him while he slept. 

They’re friends. And friends help each other. 

Suddenly, it all feels quite easy. 

Castiel takes a deep breath, holds onto that warm feeling, and says, “I could come with you if you like.” 

He isn’t surprised when Dean tenses. He likes to think he knows Dean well, despite the unconventionality of their friendship. Surprisingly, it doesn’t shake him. He won’t be offended if Dean says no. 

After a minute, Dean says hoarsely, “What?” 

Castiel shrugs. “To Sioux Falls. If you’d like the company. I’d be happy to come.” 

“You—really?” 

“Yes.” 

Dean goes quiet for a minute. He holds himself in a stiff line beside Castiel, but Castiel doesn’t react. He keeps himself steady and waits. 

Finally, Dean says, “You’ve got work.” 

“I’ve got more than enough leave to cover it.” 

Dean shakes his head. “You shouldn’t have to use your holiday time on me.” 

A peculiar sense of calm settles over Castiel. He can see all the uncertainty in Dean’s face, the nervousness, the surprise, but it doesn’t shake him. This isn’t normal for them, he knows that. This is a surprising offer, and it’s natural for Dean to be so caught off guard by it. But to Castiel, it just makes sense. 

If Dean needs him, he needs him. 

“I want to, Dean,” Castiel says. “If you’re comfortable, of course. I won’t force you to bring me along with you, but. You should know the offer is there if you want it.” 

Dean stares at him. “You want to come to the funeral of some guy you don’t know?” 

“I want to be there for a friend,” Castiel says simply. 

There’s nothing worse than feeling observed when thinking something over, so Castiel puts a little space between them. Dean stays quiet this time, shifting his weight on the couch, clearly not sure what he should say. Castiel doesn’t like seeing him look so uncomfortable when everything had been so soft and relaxed between them only minutes before, but he does feel better with the offer out in the air between them. 

“You don’t have to decide now,” Castiel says, meaning to reassure. “There’s no pressure. Just think about it.” 

Dean glances at him, then quickly away. “Um. Okay.” 

He doesn’t sound convinced, but Castiel isn’t sure what else he can say. All he can do is try and recapture some of their earlier ease. 

“We should order dinner,” he says. “What do you feel like?” 

Dean swallows. “Um.” He sounds distracted, clearly still thinking. “Anything, I don’t know. You choose.” 

“Okay, how does pizza sound?” 

There’s a place on the corner of Castiel’s block that makes good pizza. It’s an old faithful of his when he can’t be bothered to cook. 

“Yeah, that’s fine.” 

“Pepperoni?” 

“Yeah.” 

Feeling brave, Castiel rests a hand on Dean’s knee. If he can’t find the right thing to say, then hopefully the touch will settle him a little. Hopefully, it will remind Dean of their conversation prior to this one. They’re friends. Castiel is here for him. 

Dean accepts the touch, although he doesn’t do anything himself. They sit quietly while Castiel brings up postmates on his phone and places the order. He gets a pepperoni pizza for Dean and a vegetarian option for himself, as well as some garlic bread. They do great garlic bread. 

“Done,” Castiel says when the order is confirmed. He needs to change his shirt, and he should probably get a spare one for Dean as well. He doesn’t get up though. It feels important to stay near Dean. “It says it should be here in around half an hour.” 

“Are you serious?” Dean asks. 

Castiel blinks. “Yes.” He tilts his phone towards Dean, showing him the app. “See, it has a little tracker.” 

“Not about the damn pizza.” 

Oh. “About coming with you?” 

“Yeah.” 

Something in him has settled, in the time that Castiel spent ordering. Tension still holds him taught, but it feels purposeful now. His surprise has faded away, replaced by _something_. Something Castiel can’t name. 

Castiel meets his even gaze. “Yes, I’m serious.” 

Dean doesn’t pause. “Why?” 

It feels important that Castiel doesn’t flinch away from his directness. It’s lucky then, that Castiel has never shied away from honesty. “We’re friends. That’s what friends do.” 

“Go to random funerals?” 

“Go where their friends need them.” Castiel reasserts his grip on Dean’s leg, holding firm. “No one expects you to do this alone, Dean.” 

Something shutters in Dean’s eye. He looks away again, only briefly, but long enough for Castiel to understand that, _yes,_ it seems other people in Dean’s life expect exactly that. Or at least Dean seems to think so. 

“What would you even do?” Dean asks. 

Castiel shrugs. “Keep you company, I suppose.” That part, as he’s discussed with Hannah, he’s less certain of. “I thought I’d just — be there. If you need me.” 

“What, like a distraction?” 

It’s not the word that Castiel would have chosen. He’d like to be a comfort, a friend. But if a distraction is what Dean needs? 

“If you like,” Castiel says. 

Dean huffs out a breath. It’s a little like a laugh, just a touch colder than Castiel is used to, and for the first time, Castiel’s nerves break free. Perhaps he has made a misstep after all. Perhaps he’s offering too much, too far outside the scope of their arrangement.

“I’m sorry if I’ve crossed a line—” Castiel starts. 

But Dean talks over him. “No,” he says. “You haven’t, I just.” He takes a deep breath, plainly audible in the silence between them. “Cas, this isn’t your problem. You don’t have to do any of this.” 

Slightly reassured, Castiel says, “I know. I know you are more than capable of handling this on your own. But.” The right words escape him again. He’s not sure how else he can say it. He wants to be there for Dean if he’s needed. He won’t be offended if he isn’t. At least, logically. Emotionally Castiel isn’t sure what he’ll feel. Now isn’t the time to mull on that thought, though. “I’m offering. The offer is there if you want it.” 

Dean takes another deep breath. He’s such a puzzle, Castiel thinks. Sometimes, he can read Dean better than he can read himself. When it comes to Dean’s pleasure, he considers himself something of an expert. He can predict what Dean will want, when he’ll sigh and when he’ll moan. 

But right now? Now, Dean is a mystery to him. Castiel has no idea what he’s thinking, what he wants from Castiel. What he needs. 

Slowly, Dean nods. “Okay.” 

Castiel relaxes just a little. “Good,” he says, pleased that Dean finally understands. “Just think about it. There’s no rush.” 

Dean snorts, which is — confusing. 

“No, Cas,” he says. “I mean, _okay._ Yes.” 

Castiel isn’t an idiot. It takes him no time at all to realise what Dean is actually saying. _Yes._ He’s saying yes. It’s ridiculous, but despite everything he’s just said, it catches him off guard. His surprise only lasts for a moment though, before it’s swept away in a wave of happiness that he expected even less. 

He’s saying _yes._

Somehow, he manages to keep his face clear. He doesn’t want to overreact and risk spooking Dean even further. He gives Dean a small smile. 

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll let work know.” 

Dean is still watching him, looking a little wary. “You sure Michael’s gonna let you go?” 

“He has no say in the matter.” 

That makes Dean smirk. “Isn’t he your boss?” 

“Technically, yes. But our HR department has been chasing him for years about my leave balance. He’s no room to say no.” 

As he tells Dean this, he pulls up the mail app on his phone. He ignores the unread emails sitting in his inbox, although he can see a few of them are from Michael. Apparently ignoring his calls has led his brother to try all other options available to him. 

Dean shifts again. He’s still filled with tension, although Castiel can see now how he’s trying to calm himself back down. He clenches his hand into a fist and then stretches it out again. “Okay then.” 

“I’ll take a week.” He writes the dates out in his email, then shoots it off to HR. That gives him until next Tuesday. He isn’t sure if the funeral will be on Saturday or on Sunday, but either way, he has a comfortable cushion of time to get home. “I can extend it if we need.” 

“A week is good,” Dean says. 

He stretches his hand again, and Castiel suddenly can’t leave it alone. He moves his hand from Dean’s knee, covering the back of his hand, holding him still. Dean startles and looks up quickly to Castiel. 

“I won’t be offended if you change your mind,” Castiel tells him because this is important too. He won’t become just another thing that Dean has to worry about. “Whatever you need.” 

Dean watches Castiel for a long time, silent and assessing. Again, Castiel has no hope of knowing what he’s thinking. He simply has to wait to find out. 

Castiel is a patient man. Waiting he can do. 

It’s worth it when, finally, Dean looks away, down to their joined hands. Cautiously, he turns his hand over and threads their fingers together. His cheeks colour and he doesn’t look back at Castiel, but he does say, softly, “Thanks Cas.” 

It’s such a small thing, intellectually. It’s just a thank you, but in Castiel’s quiet little living room, in the small space between them, it feels like so much more. Castiel can’t label it, couldn’t dream of finding the right words for the feelings thundering in his chest, but it doesn’t feel urgent to do so. 

Instead of panicking, or thinking, or worrying, Castiel simply leans into the space at Dean’s side. He squeezes his hand. 

That’s all they need right now. The rest they can worry about later.

⬩

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much to those of you who have read this far!! and also to those of you who left kudos and comments and liked/reblogged the [tumblr post,](https://erostiel.tumblr.com/post/642690491504295936/see-me-empty-sky-by-erostiel-wip-9k-as-close-as) I love and adore you all x

**Author's Note:**

> God, I'd love to hear your thoughts x 
> 
> leave a comment or drop by my [tumblr](https://erostiel.tumblr.com/) and say hello!


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